The Never Ending Battle Book Three: Visions
by Gojirob
Summary: When members of the former 4077th MASH in the late 50's begin time-swapping with members of the senior staff of DS9, only the Padre can make things right, with the aid of some mysterious beings who talk oddly and look like his friends from the 4077th.
1. Visions Of The Things To Be

_Author's note-_

_I am listing these three stories in 'The Never-Ending Battle' first, as they are the seminal pieces needed to understand the cycle. Stories after these three will be listed in __chronological order. __Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this AU look at our favorite medics._

**Visions of the Things To Be**

By Rob Morris

* * *

River Bend, Missouri, 1957

Father Mulcahy quickly put on his vestments.

"Always in the the early morning…a morning which I'm thankful for, by the way. Though the timing of these things could use a little work. No offense, Lord. I just thought these kinds of wake-up calls were part of my past."

He had never received a Confession from this particular person, but he was glad to do it. Particularly in light of the problems that she and Max had been having. Max Klinger's bout with depression had finally passed. He acknowledged to the new psychiatrist that he really did have problems stemming from the war. All the scams were his way of putting on a brave front - with the seeming of cowardice.

"Max, Max—it's a wonder that poor girl didn't come to see me sooner."

But the Klinger collection had been put away, until Maxine Klinger was old enough to wear them - not to mention Erin Hunnicutt, half the country away. Rumor had it, even Margaret had written, asking for one.

"He always was quite—stylish."

Like the former staff psychologist at Pershing General Veterans' Hospital, the new one, Dorrie Taylor, was a woman. Unlike her predecessor, she took a tough approach with Klinger, slapping his hand as often as she held it. It was rough, at times - but it worked.

"He is my friend, Lord—but something had to give."

Life goes in cycles, not all of them fair. Klinger had been brooding of late. The word was, and it seemed to be sadly accurate, that Soon-Lee suddenly would not abide his touch. She wasn't angry, yet kept turning him away. They weren't speaking now. Mulcahy had heard that the children were rejecting their mother, as well.

"Such a sad, bizarre circumstance."

Father Mulcahy was certain he knew their genesis. Either Max or Soon-Lee must have been with someone not their spouse, and the children saw. Since the children were also rejecting her, and she was the one seeking the confessional, best evidence pointed to her. He would offer her what comfort he could, but such a breach would be difficult to heal - if it could be healed at all.

"Please come in, my child."

Soon-Lee entered the confessional. Father Mulcahy entered his area. This was at her insistence. He would have preferred speaking face-to-face.

"Father, I've never confessed before, and what I have to confess is not a sin."

Mulcahy was both relieved at hearing this and struck by how her Korean accent had vanished, like it never was.

"I am not Korean. I am Japanese, although I have Korean ancestors."

Relief was washing over Mulcahy in waves, now. He had encountered Korean racial beliefs during the war. Sadly, it was a common point between America and its ally.

"Soon-Lee, you don't need to worry, here. Any foolish soul who hates Asian peoples won't care about the distinction. And those who love you - like your husband and children will always do so."

He could hear the tears in her voice as she kept on.

"Max Klinger is a good man - I've heard nothing but good things about him, all my life. But he's not my husband. Even for the temporal Prime Directive, I won't commit incest, no matter how many times removed he is."

The Padre's relief was gone.

"He's not removed from you, my child- he's right there, in your home. His problems are past him. As to incest - now I must confess - I have no idea what you're talking about."

"My confession, Father, is that I am not Soon-Lee Klinger at all. She, Max, and those beautiful children are my ancestors. My name is Keiko O'Brien, and I was born in the 24th Century. I don't know how, but Soon-Lee and I changed places. She is currently on a space station orbiting a planet called Bajor. She's probably horribly frightened."

There were rare occasions when the sanctity of the Confessional came around to bite Francis Mulcahy. This felt very much like one of those.

"I'm sure she's not the only one, My Child."

The rules of the confessional actually had some give in odd cases, though it was a third rail few priests ever felt like approaching. He felt firmly though, that he could not tell anyone that Soon-Lee had gone completely insane. Church Law directed, and his own rules stated that clearly.

"Soon-Lee---

"I told you my name is Keiko, Father."

He sighed.

"Keiko it is, then. You have me in a bad position. Keeping a secret that could do harm to yourself or others may force me to speak up."

She wasn't having a word of it.

"Even in the 24th Century, the sanctity of the Confessional of The Roman Catholic Priesthood is a legend. There are stories of Klingons that converted solely on the basis of having someone trustworthy to confess their weaknesses to. So don't you dare even intimate to me that you might reveal my secret, Father."

Francis Mulcahy was stuck.

Soon-Lee Klinger's revelation of her belief only confirmed everyone's worst fears.

"You told me you were Japanese, not Korean. But O'Brien is neither of those. Believe me, I know. The O'Briens who lived by us in our neck of Pennsylvania were very Irish. Stereotypical, I'm afraid. Hard-drinking Union men, one and all. "

Father Mulcahy was trying to gently persuade the woman he firmly believed to be Soon-Lee to talk to someone - probably Dorrie Taylor. He liked Dorrie. She didn't hold faith in contempt. She and Sydney Freedman were exceptions to that seeming rule of psychiatry.

"Dorrie can help you, Soon-Lee. I can't. Leeway or no, I could never bring myself tell anyone what you've said. But she can, when you're ready. Please tell me you will at least think about it."

The woman who knew she was not Soon-Lee Klinger just shook her head.

"No, Father. I can't. They'll think-"

She saw his face.

"- what you apparently do. That I've lost my mind. I'm not sure I haven't. No, scratch that. I am Keiko O'Brien. My husband is Miles O'Brien. Those people you spoke of sound a lot like his ancestors. Some of them emigrated back to Ireland, after the Khan wars-don't ask. Maxine-God, how she looks like my Molly did, at that age-will marry a Japanese businessman named Hiron Ishikawa who is my only traceable ancestor at that time in history. There are so many stories. The racial friction, because he married a Half-Korean. Max Klinger's legendary efforts to get a Section 8 Mental Challenge Discharge. A time capsule was opened recently that had one of his actual dresses in it. It was turned over to me and my family. Oh, God. Dax used it to play a trick on Worf. I still can't believe she got him to put it on. See, she told him that my ancestors would be insulted..."

Keiko trailed off, seeing that, in the eyes of Father Mulcahy, she was slipping into delusion.

"Soon-Lee-Child-You were there when we buried the time capsule-the last week of May, 53'. A full three weeks before you married Max. Surely, you remember..."

He saw that she did not. Father Mulcahy gathered himself, then braced for what he had to say next. It wouldn't be easy.

"Keiko - I will respect your right to call yourself what you like, in here - what you confessed to me was not a sin, but what you believe to be a fact."

Keiko saw the implications immediately, and did not care for them one bit. As her face showed her resolve, Mulcahy's began to weaken. He felt, for a second, that this was a woman raised in a future time of equal footing.

"You know, Father, a great man named James T. Kirk will one day be asked under what circumstances he would go strictly by the book. He would always find loopholes, like you're trying to do right now. As I say, a man revered by even his enemies as an innovator and someone who did what he had to-rules or no. Do you know what his response was?"

Father Mulcahy, of course, did not.

"He said that if he became a member of the priesthood, then he would obey the letter of the law-because that's what a priest does. Not that he would have been the best candidate."

With that, the proud young woman with two names and two families in two times left the hospital chapel upset that she had not received the comfort she wanted. Equally upset, Mulcahy prayed for guidance.

"Lord? Do you think you could send this Kirk fellow here? He might be able to talk to her. I, it seems, am failing her miserably."

The Lord moves in mysterious ways, though. Sometimes through the hand of man, and sometimes through the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, though, the Lord sends angels that are indistinguishable from the people we know. Father Mulcahy now found this out.

"What is that light? Oh—My."

-------------

DEEP SPACE NINE, 2375

The junior engineer was feeling his Chief's roaring words right through to his DNA.

"Then test them again. I'll rework every damned inch of Defiant till we can transfix on Keiko's exact chronal coordinates. My children aren't buying it anymore. They wanna know where their Mommy is. The *nice lady* wants to go home, too."

Miles O'Brien had never come up against such a frustrating dilemma. No matter the method used to manipulate chronoton particles, 1957 was beyond their reach. Sisko knew better than to try and order him to be calm--for now. The CO tried persuasion once again, despite knowing better.

"We're being herded, Chief. The Prophets want us to use the Orb - those stray anti-chronitons flooding this region of space are coming straight from the wormhole."

O'Brien looked straight at Sisko.

"Captain, am I coming along?"

Sisko looked like he was still thinking about it, but the truth was, he had already decided to take him. Sadly, he would need the chief, for a grim reason unique to those past times. But he wanted him along, anyway. Thoughts of finding Jennifer around a corner of time still haunted him, months after her second death in the Mirror world. He couldn't deny another man this. He wouldn't even try.

"Alright, Chief, but remember, consequences of time-travel are geometrically related to how far back you're going. Mid-1950's America on Earth was not just Rock 'N' Roll. Dumlur and Lucsly of Temporal Affairs are only allowing this to in-and-out retrieve a Federation citizen."

Sisko did not add in the concerns they expressed about a civilian privy to so many Starfleet secrets, mucking about that far back in time.

"Further, I'd like you to comfort Mrs. Klinger before we go. Your distance from her has only increased her distress."

O'Brien shook his head.

"Captain, how would you feel if a woman who looked exactly like your wife showed up out of thin air, but you know it isn't her, and ----that was a bad question, wasn't it?"

Sisko actually smiled.

"It ranks right up there with the time you asked Commander Riker how he would like to have a double running around."

Sisko left to choose his crew for this mission. Miles went to see a good, decent woman who he had been trying to avoid like the devil, but with whom he wanted to make mad love to every time he saw her. Ancestors are ancestors, but uncanny remains uncanny. None of this was her fault - or anyone else's. Well, maybe Kira did share some of the blame.

--------------

SOME WEEKS PRIOR, DEEP SPACE NINE

"To conclude, I offer reverent thanks to my ancestors, for there is no present without the past, and we are nothing without them who came before us. In Japan, we hold these dear people close to our hearts, always. The ones who were the noblest Samurai. The ones who were the most casually brutal Fascists. The ones who survived the Gojira plague that trampled our people like ants, while Titans chewed on skyscrapers. The ones who rebuilt the Earth's economy, after the Third World War. On my beloved husband's line, stand heroes who made work something that got one ahead in life, rather than running in place. Ours is hardly the only culture to revere ancestors, but forgive my pride when I say that Shinto has a grace to it, an elegance of ritual, that I hope I brought through to you today."

There was loud applause in the Bajoran shrine. Some had been wary of another faith showing its wares in Deep Space Nine's Shrine to The Prophets-by Grace of The One True Emissary. But Keiko was still, at her core, a teacher. As her watching husband knew, she taught quite well. She knew the value of presentation, and that always included follow-through.

"I now stand before your people's blessed Orb Of Time, to see both what was and visions of the things to be-but I doubt I'll find any lost cities."

There was amused laughter, at that last comment. Keiko was thankful she bounced it off Kira first, though.

"Oh, I'm seeing—no, I am Molly. She's -she's teaching shapeshifter children in a refugee camp-oh-one of them's pulling a trick on her, but the Jem'Hadar boy's telling. Oh, how funny-I wait- I'm- washing dishes? Dishes that I ordered from a-cereal box? Now I'm writing a letter- to -The Last Of The Mohicans? That doesn't make any sense. I'm talking to a priest, but he's not hearing my words-but not because he won't see his own true nature. But if he can't, then everything we have done to protect the Sisko will be in vain. We must not permit this. We--"

In a flash, Keiko O'Brien vanished, then reappeared, quite dazed. Major Kira Nerys felt absolutely rotten. It was at her suggestion that Keiko perform the Shinto rite here. If she had been hurt---Miles would be far from the only one not to forgive this.

"Keiko. Please. Are you all right?"

Keiko looked up. In an accent distinctly different than her usual one-to Kira all Terrans had accents-the woman who appeared to be Keiko spoke.

"Your nose - why is it all pushed in like that? Where is Max?"

With that, the woman fainted. Dr. Julian Bashir walked in to administer to the shock-ridden Keiko, or the woman they took to be her.

"Are you all right?"

"You are a doctor?"

Her voice sounded almost wistful to Bashir. Her heritage aside, Bashir had always regarded his best friend's wife as an almost typically Irish spouse, blunt and not liking to be fussed over.

"Yes. I am a doctor. It's me, Julian. Would you like to come with me to Sickbay?"

"I do not feel—sick. Merely confused."

She stood up unaided, and looked around. The smiling faces regarding her recovery seemed to calm her nerves. It was then that friends of the O'Briens showed up to wish her well. It was soon to be his goddaughter Molly's birthday, and a certain Klingon said some innocent words.

"I will be stopping by to see that little girl of yours. I have something for her."

Jadzia Dax, Worf's wife, then chimed in.

"You're both so lucky to have such a cute kid, oh I just wanna gobble her up."

At most, Jadzia and her husband expected an admonishment about spoiling the children. However, the woman they both saw as their old friend Keiko began to kick, scream, and claw at them, quite wildly. They wondered if Molly's temporally displaced, grown-up, feral self had somehow possessed her mother.

"Someone help me. Man with helmet-for-head and diseased lady want to come into my house and eat my children. Police."

The local constabulary did respond, prompt as ever.

"Mrs. O'Brien? What seems to be the trouble?"

Soon-Lee Klinger was beyond nervous, and her English was breaking up.

"I tell you what trouble is, what your problem? You have no....FAAAACCEEEE."

To everyone's eyes, Keiko O'Brien fainted dead away - again - and was rushed off to sickbay, this time without discussion. Odo shrugged.

"What precisely, is wrong with my face?"

Kira looked to Odo for sympathy. His face gave as much as he could muster, then and there

"Odo, you know something? This is why I don't throw parties."

In Sickbay, O'Brien wasn't feeling in a festive mood either.

"What in bloody hell do you mean that isn't Keiko? We just checked each other out this morning. That is to say, we checked each other to make sure we weren't shapeshifters. That's what I meant."

Bashir smiled.

"Well, Chief?"

Miles was not smiling.

"Well, what?"

Bashir shook his head amusedly.

"Are You or Aren't You?"

O'Brien's patience was leaving him rapidly.

"Are I or Aren't I What?"

Bashir gave a look of mock-concern.

"A Shapeshifter? Are You or Aren't You a shapeshifter?"

The boom followed as expected.

"JULIAN. I SWEAR ON MY..."

A commanding voice cut through. It was Kira, concerned about the friend she had placed in jeopardy.

"Chief O'Brien, that's enough. Doctor, this is neither the time nor place for that kind of stupidity".

For all his genetically enhanced intelligence, Bashir was great at stepping where he should not.

"I'm sorry, Major…Miles. But this is incredible. I felt some levity was required to deal with it all."

Miles and Kira calmed down, not liking Bashir's humor any better but listening anyway.

"Since this was the Orb Of Time we're talking about, I cross-referenced this young woman's appearance with Keiko's known ancestors. Finding that five of them were very nearly her mirrors, I then did a simple blood check. This woman has traces of a chemical insecticide once known as DDT - as did all people in the mid-to-late Twentieth Century. Making this a field of one."

Miles, overlooking the Sleeping Beauty that was not his wife, finished Bashir's statement.

"She's Soon-Lee, a South Korean immigrant to the United States. Went there with a soldier she married-one Maxwell Q. Klinger. Boy, I hope that nose never enters the O'Brien line. We have enough troubles. Anyhow, her daughter Maxine, named for her father, marries a Japanese businessman named Hiron. Things get kind of a sketchy for a while, but this Hiron is Keiko's last known relation prior to the wars of Khan Singh. When Pennsylvania's coal mines closed forever, the O'Briens went back to Ireland. A wild bunch. My ancestor, analog to Mrs. Klinger here, was a former nun from a very religious family. Quite the scandal. To this day, the O'Briens and the Mulcahys only speak when they have to."

Julian finally spoke up.

"Miles, we will find Keiko. All this ancestor talk won't calm your obvious nerves about.....did you say Mulcahy and Klinger?"

Miles, still staring longingly at Soon-Lee, barely noted the shift in Bashir's tone.

"Yeah. What about them?"

Bashir's enhanced memory had hit upon something.

"Computer, call up main medical display and access all files relating to the Earth Korean War Mobile Army Surgical Hospital numeration 4077."

"File A: Personnel, File B: Wounded Treated, File C: Statistics, File D: Innovations, File E: Debauchery, File X: Immunita Project."

The Computer droned on a few more, and was then directed to File A.

"Computer, keep File X open, and put it to my personal station, for later reading. Old Spooky Mulder's always good for a laugh."

Upon saying that, Bashir pointed to several long-digitized photos, many of them recovered from a makeshift time capsule dating from the end of the hot phase of the Korean War. The most prominent one, found in an auxiliary canister, was of a wedding. Soon-Lee chose then to wake up.

"Where did you get a picture of my wedding? Are you people Communist spies? You will get nothing from me. I am American now. MY COUNTRY, CAUSE OF THEE, SWEET LAKES OF LAND YOU SEE, I SING MY SONG."

She then folded her arms and sat defiantly. Miles, more than a bit confused, asked,

"Mrs. Klinger? Uh, first, we're not spies. You see, my wife was kidnapped, and the kidnapper got you too, and we have to catch him to send you back, as well as get my wife, Keiko. But he's tricky, this guy. You see, we live here in the future, while you live in the past, and that's where my wife is-we hope."

Soon-Lee shook her head. "I don't live in the past. I leave Korea, and I never look back. That's what Max told me, when he taught me that wonderful song."

The explanations took a while longer.

"So you see, Soon-Lee, Father Mulcahy's sister married Miles' ancestor. While you and Max are Keiko's-er- Great- Grandparents."

Oversimplification, Bashir knew, but he wasn't sure how much Soon-Lee could take, memory-wipe or no when she left.

"That is not possible. Max and I only became parents two years ago. Oh, Max, you have finally driven me up a wall, and I have no driver's license yet."

Miles put her hand on Soon-Lee's shoulder, noting again the uncanny repeat dance genetics can do.

"It's all right, Soon-Lee. Listen, would you like to me to take you to my quarters? My kids kind of miss their Mommy, and you'd be a real surprise to them."

Soon-Lee stared at Miles. "You sure you are not my descendant? I see family trait on your face. I think it's the nose."

As Miles groaned, and Julian laughed, the non-couple went to meet the kids. On the way, they met the Rozhenkos once again. Worf greeted them warmly.

"Chief. Fair Warning. Keep that woman away from me and my wife. I mean it."

Worf swung his trademark weapon in a wide arc, seeking to keep Soon-Lee Klinger at bay. With odd calm, she spoke to Worf.

"Mister Worf, I am very sorry I insult you and your wife. I realize now you were not trying to eat my children. I'm just very touchy when it comes to that sort of thing. Jadzia, I want to speak with you later about my great-granddaughter. The Doctor says you are her friend."

Dax smiled, and agreed, and she left. Worf left, as well, never turning his back on Soon-Lee. She smiled at O'Brien.

"Such nice people. Oh, who's this?"

Miles had grabbed up Molly to meet Soon-Lee.

"Molly, honey, this is your Great-Grandma, give or take ten generations, say hello."

Molly knew this wasn't her mother, but liked the woman anyway.

"Hello, Grandma. I love you."

Soon-Lee was overwhelmed and thrown off by emotions at the child's hug.

"Please, don't call me Grandma. Just think of me as nice lady."

Molly smiled.

"Ok, Nice Lady".

She, Molly and Yoshi hit it off. Miles also found her charming, if more than a little off-putting, through no fault of her own. There were also plenty of awkward moments.

"Miles, is that woman your wife? She looks just like me. But why does she not wear any clothes? Is that how women dress, now?"

With a beet-red face, an aggravated Miles O'Brien cursed the dumb computer that couldn't differentiate between Keiko's voice and that of Soon-Lee. It was obvious enough to him. Lots of things were, right now. Like the fact of his bedroom being thrown open, right as he was ready to access Keiko 8.97, his wife's holographic-and approved-substitute.

"Sir? Is a triad simulation indicated here? Will Keiko 1.0 be joining us?"

Miles was not feeling any better.

"Not in my lifetime. Computer, end program."

Luckily, the unclad image of Keiko O'Brien faded out. But Soon-Lee's screams did not.

"Oh, you cruel man. You sent your wife away. Miles, bring her back. She has had no chance to get dressed."

Miles stepped as tenderly as he could.

"Soon-Lee that was a hologram. Kind of a motion picture of my wife. The computer, er, made a mistake. That's why she had no clothes on."

Soon-Lee seemed to understand this. But Miles was having trouble understanding why Soon-Lee was also not wearing any clothes.

Just then, Molly walked up to exacerbate matters.

"Daddy, why is the nice lady not wearing any clothes?"

Miles didn't think his face could get any redder, but he was wrong. A laughing Soon-Lee picked Molly up.

"Oh, no, Molly. Doctor Bashir showed me how to use the changeable door and the changeable bathrobe. I can see me without clothes, but you can't."

Soon-Lee did wonder why the sweet child felt so close to her skin, but reasoned that the new technology she had encountered made that possible.

"So many wonders to behold, here. My great-granddaughter must be a beautiful person, to come from such a place."

Miles was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wouldn't be long.

"Oh, there are lots of things to behold, Soon-Lee. Speaking of which..."

Molly then dropped the other shoe. She adjusted the bathrobe-filter controls on the garment. Realizing her initial mistake, Soon-Lee's face went to match Miles as she sprinted for her room.

"Daddy, Doctor Bashir pulled a mean trick on the Nice Lady, didn't he? Are you gonna punch him?"

Miles nodded.

"Yes, Honey, Daddy is going to beat the living daylights out of our man Bashir."

Molly spoke again. "Daddy, first you better put on some clothes, too. I gotta take care o' everybody 'round here!"

As the little one stalked off, he realized he hadn't a moral leg to stand on, clothing-wise.

"Thank God we're such an open family. Open to what, though, I have no idea."

As he got dressed, determined to make trickster Julian know the pain, he remembered this last week of adjustment, hoping and praying it would be the last week. Miles was very unsure as to whether he could survive another week with Soon-Lee Klinger. He was certain he couldn't handle another scene like that, though. Soon-Lee was uncertain of other things.

"I shower in front of him, walk in not wearing anything, interrupt him playing with movie projector, and he does nothing. Miles O'Brien, you may not be as handsome as Max, but I like you very much. Why won't you do what I say? After all, this is my dream, isn't it?"

---------------

Keiko O'Brien entered the Klinger household, thankful that Max was not home, and still feeling like the biggest fool in four centuries. As the neighbor who was watching the children smiled and left, she resolved to apologize to Father Mulcahy the first chance she got. She had no right to yell at the sweet, gentle man, or to put him on the spot. But her position was nearly unbearable. With Max's wondering why she turned him away joined with the children's understandable rejection of her, she felt more and more isolated. Her paranoia had even kicked in, wondering if Miles and Nerys hadn't done this to get rid of her, so they could run off together. She knew this was ridiculous-her careful planning had nipped their mutual attraction in the bud, in any event. But ever since she had arrived in Soon-Lee's place, events had exacerbated her worst tendencies.

"…he must be protected. What?"

When the flash from the Orb was done, she found herself sitting in an old-style bathtub, suds flowing.

"All right, you gorgeous hunk of South Korean womanhood, be prepared to bathe with Mr. Lebanon, 1958-they voted me in early."

The man was wearing a bathrobe, and nothing else. She wondered if this wasn't Quark's holosuite, maybe a joke on Dax and Kira's part. Well, if it was, she didn't care for it. She got up, threw on her bathrobe - modesty didn't matter much in front of the hologram she assumed Max Klinger to be- walked up to the bathroom door, and shouted

"Exit. Exit. Guys. QUARK. I don't care how much they're paying you, I'll double any offer. NOW."

Max sauntered up behind her, and playfully slapped her in the rear. He then put his arms around her.

"Wassamatta, baabykins? You gotta case of cold feet? We don't get a better opportunity than this. Wally and Maxine are at the Potters, we're both off work...the bath water is almost as hot as you. Now I'll just untie that silly ole' bathrobe and...be pushed to the floor in a broken heap. What gives, hon?"

Keiko was fed up. If her friends ever did anything like this again, they would know the pain. An amorous hologram was not her idea of a good time - unless it was Miles 3.7, the facsimile that she brought with her during her six-month stay on Bajor-but that was her husband. This man was not her husband, but he was---familiar.

Retying her bathrobe, so as to prevent him from becoming any more familiar, she exited to-a bedroom?

"All right, that's it. COMPUTER. O'Brien Override 96356. Miles, if you're in on this, you better pray Keiko 7.9 is back up. That's all I'm saying, that's...this isn't the holosuite, is it?"

Keiko half-hoped that surrender would end the practical joke. It didn't and it wasn't. A very concerned and quite real Max Klinger walked in.

"Soon-Lee, please tell me what's wrong. Honey, some men say they aren't mind-readers. Well, I'm barely a mind user. So give. What did this big chump do to ruin our little game of the Queen and her Throne?"

Keiko didn't even want to bother to reason out what that particular game meant for this man's wife. Then she caught that wife's name.

"Soon-Lee? So-So-Soon-Lee Klinger?"

Max tried his best to play along.

"Well, I sure hope so. Otherwise, we got a lot to explain to our two kids. Although, at times, they can both be little..."

Timing is everything, and Keiko knew she could not catch a break there that day. Still, the booming voice coming from the living room was another unneeded anvil.

"We're here. The Klinger crew is being dropped off, after a successful mission. Max? Soon-Lee?"

Max frowned.

"Oh, great. The Colonel's back early. Sorry, my Queen."

Keiko wasn't sorry. Just massively confused. A little boy, that she learned was Walter Sherman "Wally" Klinger, ran up to her, joyfully screaming,

"Mommmmmeeeee",

Upon touching her, without missing a beat, he recoiled, and screamed towards his little sister.

"Maxxie. She's not our Mooommmmeee."

Then he ran straight into his father's shin. The baby, Maxine, then started to do everything upset babies do. Mildred Potter looked at her husband.

"Sherman, do you think we came at a bad time?"

Keiko muttered as she tried and failed to calm the children.

"No—but I think I did."

Each hour was agony, then each day, and each week, until she made herself stop reacting to any odd sound like it was a sign of temporal rescue. She wasn't even certain anymore that Soon-Lee had been sent to DS9 in her place, realizing she had just assumed a complete switch. Locating a mostly-healed scar on her ankle confirmed that she was at least in her own body.

*Unless Soon-Lee once got a nearly-identical scar.*

In a broken moment, when she was completely alone, she did something she was glad didn't work.

"Please—I'll tell you Jean-Luc Picard's shoe size and his favorite character from I, Claudius if you just end this."

She sobbed.

"It's Sejanus. Ummm—the character, not the shoe size."

It didn't work. No Dukat, Weyoun, or even that Ferengi captain who wanted revenge on Picard. Even Q would have been welcome.

"Lady?"

Keeping a nervous distance was Three-Year-Old Walter Sherman Cy Young Klinger, known as Wally.

"Maxine needs to be changed. Are you gonna hurt her?"

Keiko hated that she had been there so long, that Wally had, out of necessity, given in and trusted her. Then again, given memories of also being rejected by Molly when the transporter de-aged her, it was a comfort.

"Never. In fact, I promise: If I should hurt Maxine, may I fade away like I was never there."

"Wow! That's a real promise! Lady, why are you here? When is our Mommy coming back?"

Keiko put a finger to her lips.

"It's a secret. She went into outer space, to help defeat a bunch of bad guys called the Dominion. She's taking care of my little girl named Molly, and my little boy named Yoshi. You two look a lot like them."

"Are we related?"

"Kind-of. That's a part of the secret I can't tell you about."

Her mind recalled the family history. History that included health problems that claimed Wally Klinger in his late 40's.

*Maybe that's why I'm here. If Miles brings Julian with him, maybe he can save Wally.*

Doubtful, she knew. She could hear the lectures about that one before the thought was ten seconds old.

"Lady, do kids get to go out into space and have adventures?"

Keiko had been inching closer to the curious little boy, and finally took his hand, which he did not pull away.

"They sure do. Why, where I come from, kids get to be time travelers, reporters, and businessmen."

Things were a lot easier after that, between Keiko and the children. But Max Klinger, who wanted far more than kind words and silly games to satisfy him, was another story entirely.

"Are you sure you want to see a flick about *Gojira*? Remember, honey, me and the gang were there for the real thing. What dopes we were to hold a reunion in Tokyo."

As the fictionalization started onscreen, Max smiled, though.

"I sure am glad we could help all those people. Boy, it was a nuthouse-and I should know."

Keiko shifted in her seat, not responding to Max's humor. She had agreed to this, reluctantly. But a movie house was a public place. What could happen there?

"Max, it's just that I haven't seen Gojira in a long...theater."

She had almost slipped there, and badly. The dramatization of Reporter Stephen Martin's accounts of doomed Tokyo, 1954, was brand new in 1957. As the movie played, she relaxed, as she felt Miles put his arm around her. She felt playful as Miles put his hand on her right breast. She felt disgusted with herself as she remembered that Miles was in the 24th century, probably being utterly faithful to her while she entertained these loathsome thoughts. She got up and walked out during the closing cartoon, about an animated rabbit. On the street, Max confronted her.

"All's I'm sayin' is, it's a sorry state of affairs in this country when a man can't get to Second with his own wife."

People were hearing them, but neither of them cared right now. Keiko shouted,

"Getting to Second is fine, but you tried to steal the base."

Klinger just shook his head.

"Well, maybe I should've just gone for Third. Because it seems to me like somebody's already stolen Home Base. No wait, Soon-Lee. No way I meant that. It's just-I can take no as an answer for a while, but you won't even let me touch you. What am I supposed to think?"

Keiko was a bit calmer, now, but not by much.

"Maybe, Max, you should think that I have a pulled hamstring, and can't pitch right now-and leave it at that."

The rain was coming down, but Max's view of things was starting to clear up.

"Your accent, honey. Your sweet, wonderful voice. What happened to it? And since when do you know so much about baseball? I've never heard you get it so right-it's attractive."

Keiko doubted Max found anything about her unattractive, at this point. Not thinking, she merely said,

"I've been working on my diction. And I learned all about baseball from Benjamin."

Before she could retract those words, Max exploded.

"So that's IT. Hawkeye Pierce strikes again. Why, I oughta...Waitaminute, it couldn't be him. He's in Ottumwa, helping Radar get un-flooded. All the roads are out. You see what you got me doin'. Ready to accuse my friend of moving in on you. Lady, take it from an ex-nut. You are N*U*T*S."

Max stalked off, feeling stupid, angry, and pretty much as he had since his wife unknowingly vanished. He regretted his words, but Keiko, once again, didn't blame him. To an empty street, she pleaded.

"Would it help any if I said that the Benjamin I'm referring to hasn't even been born yet?"

The former company clerk was not a man to hold a grudge very long. Keiko would begin to wish that he was.

"Max, please get up. There's no need for this."

Pleading with her many times great-grandfather to get off his hands and knees, while he pleaded for intimacy, Keiko silently recited the Temporal Prime Directive for the umpteen thousandth time. Max thought that he had done something wrong, and usually this was a pretty good bet. But this went far deeper than raised toilet seats, 2AM feedings or inappropriate remarks at a friend's house. No, this involved the Will Of The Prophets.

*Nerys, please talk to your gods, okay?*

On the floor of the small house he and his wife were mortgaged to the hilt for, Max continued to hug Keiko's leg like a whipped puppy.

"Was it our Anniversary? No, wait, I forgot that last month. Was it the Potters' Anniversary? Or the Pierces? No wait, they called that off-or did they put that back on? With Hawkeye and Hot Lips, you never can..."

As he got up, he saw that the woman he believed to be his wife was crying her eyes out.

"Geez Louise, Soon-Lee. I give up. The only thing I know about this situation is that I caused it. Otherwise, I'm out in left field."

Keiko tried to help, but it was no help at all.

"What makes you think this is your fault? How do you know it's not just me?"

Max just shrugged.

"When DiMaggio goes to the plate, and you see a ball fly over the stadium, you usually know why it happened. When it comes to dumb moves, I'm the Mid-West MVP. So just give with my dumbness, and I'll make it up ta ya--somehow."

Max expected a lot of things at this point. A punch of some kind was high on that list. But Keiko hugged him instead.

"Max Klinger, I had always heard this kind of thing about you, but you are just the sweetest thing. You deserve better than this mess. You deserve your wife."

Max's interest piqued at this.

"Well, since I'm so deserving, how about a little of what I might deserve? I gotta go to work soon, and a little of you helps carry me on through."

He saw her still-troubled face.

"I'm going to take those barely-hidden sobs as a No."

Max got ready for work, looking haggard and more than a little bit angry. Keiko saw this, and each look hurt all the more.

*Who can blame him? As far as he knows, his wife is rejecting him for no good reason. Oh, Miles. Please bring this poor man's wife back to him. Do it soon, darling.*

Keiko didn't find Max Klinger repulsive; far from it. The past week, lying in bed next to him, she had almost instinctively reached over to him for comfort. She then would remember this wasn't Miles. Worse, he was an ancestor. But she grew lonely, more and more, day by day. She was afraid that, one night, she would find herself accepting these unacceptable circumstances. She had shielded herself by thinking of a class of Bajoran-Cardassian children she had taught, all survivors of incest. This wasn't the same, but her strongly developed sense of outrage kept her from responding to Max Klinger's desires, however much she might want to respond. She recalled that women of Soon-Lee's time were taught to fear and stay away from sex. Hypocritical as those lessons were, she wished that she could temporarily forget that, in her time, attitudes were markedly different. She saw young Wally and little Maxine asleep. They were still only slightly comfortable around her. If only she could tell someone else, an adult. Realizing that there was someone she could tell, Keiko made use of a phone, something, she had only seen in a museum and called a neighbor to watch the kids.

As she left to go to her seemingly pointless talk with Father Mulcahy, Keiko encountered Sherman Potter, waiting to walk to General Pershing Veterans Hospital (called 'General General' by many) with Max.

"Soon-Lee, darlin. How's things in Casa Del Klinger? That hubby of yours keepin' to the straight and narrow? Mildred tells me we men were put here on this Earth to invent something new and stupid to do at each sunrise. Guess she's got a point. Heh."

It was impossible for Keiko not to like the gregarious Colonel. Upon learning the full story of Soon-Lee and Max, some years back, from a book Will Riker gave Miles and herself for their First anniversary, she felt compelled to study the Army unit the Klingers had met and married in, the MASH 4077th. The stories were just incredible. The people were so engaging and human. Molly had even started saying 'Horse Hocky' to everyone in sight for 3 weeks, after learning about them. The man who originated that colorful phrase, and about a million others, was waiting for her reply.

"Soon-Lee? Hello. Kiddo, you been getting all 40 winks? You look like you're standing in a blessed Museum. My aunt Bessie used to say, 'It's Shuteye or Shut Brains.' Pick Your Poison." Keiko broke from her reverie, then spoke with the Colonel before proceeding to meet Father Mulcahy. When this chit-chat was done, Max emerged from hiding.

"Well, Colonel, did ya talk with her?"

Potter frowned.

"Max, my boy, there's something not right here."

Klinger shrugged.

"Tell Me about It. It's like she's someone else. Didn't she tell you anything?"

Potter was trying to couch his words. What he had to say would hit hard, and he needed Max to be ready.

"First off, Max, her 'Everything's Fine' routine isn't even fooling her, let alone me. Now I know you know that, but I'm not just joyriding here. Also, I gave her plenty enough openings to pillory you, so it's nothing you've done. There's more. Her voice has changed, son. Her English is better than mine. It suggests education and a self - confidence I've never seen your Missus have."

Klinger nodded, though he would have preferred telling the Colonel he was wrong.

"Colonel, I asked her the other day if she remembered what she said to me, when I accused her of shooting those GI's back at the 4077th. First off, that always upsets her - I usually don't bring it up. Our couch has bad lumps. But she didn't bat an eye, this time. Worse, guess what she told me? She said that she told me 'Corporal, I didn't shoot anybody.' Well, as you know, I had finally made Sergeant by then. What's more, she said, "I Not Shoot Anybody." She's usually the one to correct me on that kinda stuff. It's just nutsy-cuckoo, and I can't take it anymore."

Potter was sympathetic but only to a point.

"Son, you may just have to put up with it awhile longer. Not too long ago, you put that prize Philly through her paces. When you lost it for real this time, she waited while you sat in the psych ward. Couldn't have been easy on her, specially the way you didn't even try to get any better at first."

Max had run afoul of a swindler, and ended up in jail after punching him out. Seeking to dodge punishment, he got himself placed in General General's psych ward, only to slowly realize he really had something wrong with him. The man who had failed to act crazy enough to be thrown out of the Army really had gone crazy after leaving Korea.

"Yeah, I was a chump. That other lady shrink was nice, but she was a knucklehead, too. If Doctor Taylor hadn'ta played rough with me, I'd sat there vegetating."

After their walk was through, Klinger stopped just outside the hospital steps.

"Colonel? Are you telling me just to be patient with Soon-Lee the way she was with me? I mean fair's fair, right? If that's all I gotta do, I'll do it for my gal, no questions asked."

He saw Potter shaking his head, then finally out and said what was on his mind.

"Max, I'm no Sydney Freedman. But I think that your wife is beyond just shaking this thing off. We gotta talk to Dorrie. No matter how much it hurts. Agreed?"

Max knew how Soon-Lee would react. But his yes in this case was a foregone conclusion. He wanted his wife back, no matter what or how long it took. The what was the Bajoran Orb Of Time. The how long was the next 12 hours or the next 400 years, depending on your point of view.

-------------------

Father Francis Mulcahy had just completed his frustrating talk with Keiko, who had failed to convince him of her true identity. As he got up from his prayers for her sanity, he began to question his own. The room he had walked out of was no longer the hospital chapel, and the room he walked into was no longer the connecting foyer.

Somehow, he was back in uniform, back in Korea, back at the 4077th. He was wandering from the Company Clerk's office into the CO's.

The CO was there. Both CO's were there. Henry Blake and Sherman Potter. They were standing on either side of the room. With them were Majors Burns and Winchester, Trapper and BJ, Radar and Klinger, Margaret, and so was someone oddly appropriate to this bizarre tableau, sitting at the desk, ringleader as always.

"Hawkeye? What are we all doing here? What is this place? I'd swear it has the feel of some kind of Celestial Temple. Like it's here, but also all around us. Please answer me."

Pierce said nothing; No one did. They merely regarded Mulcahy with impassive, curious eyes, like he was an object of study. Finally, the one that looked like Hawkeye spoke, in a monotone completely unlike the real one.

"You Are The Priest."

No question. Just a statement of fact to which Father Francis Mulcahy responded, with all the enthusiasm he could muster,

"That would be me----I think."

Captain Benjamin Sisko could have told him what was going on. So could Proprietor Quark. But neither of them was around. Speaking was not Ben Sisko, but rather Ben Pierce-or the image of him, anyway.

"You Are The Priest."

Next was Trapper.

"The Priest carries the clay. The clay is fragile."

Now BJ.

"The Priest Does Not Hear The Woman, and so fails to notice the rocks in front of him."

Now Henry Blake.

"The Priest trips, falls, and the clay is lost in the river. We are familiar with that."

For some reason, the others turned and looked the Blake Image, stared, and then turned back again. The image of Frank Burns went to speak, but was cut off by the Margaret Houlihan before he could.

"To Maintain Order, the Clay must be forged and hardened, made firm, unyielding, strong, wondrous..."

Again, the same stare, then back to business. Radar spoke.

"The Priest Must Deliver The Clay To The Right One, otherwise it gets all screwy."

Clearly, these beings were having some kind of trouble relaying their message as they wished to. Mulcahy would not have been a bit surprised if they found that the personalities of the 4077th were shining through just a bit. Klinger seemed to prove that point.

"The Right One will be the One who is not the Wrong One. You might want to make a note of that. It could be important later."

Now, the Padre saw himself. But his face had no features, just eyes, nose, and a mouth.

"Seek the one who was cast out."

Father Mulcahy objected.

"Never! He who was cast out shall burn in a fire of his own making forevermore!"

Now the stares were all at him.

"Er, you were talking about the Devil, right? No, I don't believe you were. It's just that whole 'cast out' thing rubs me the wrong way."

Now, Soon-Lee appeared and spoke nearly in her own voice and style of speech.

"The Priest must believe The Woman. I mean the other woman, I mean the other me, Uh...yes."

Potter.

"The Priest brings The Clay To Be Forged by The Potter."

Mulcahy nodded.

"I was kind of wondering when you were going to get there."

The Potter image looked a bit concerned.

"Were we that obvious?"

Francis tried to be gentle.

"Well, to be candid, it was that whole, Clay, Clay, Clay Thing. The whole Potter reference followed more or less naturally."

Finally, Hawkeye spoke again.

"You are The Priest. You carry The Clay To The Potter. The Potter takes The Clay, and from it forges a vessel. This vessel carries The Emissary, The Sisko. But not The Lone Ranger."

At that, all of them stared at the Pierce Image. It shrugged.

"Hey, don't look at me; They're his friends. Those other Humans and Bajorans never caused this."

An argument broke out, and Mulcahy tried to slip out. He was stopped by Winchester.

"There is more you must be told. You Are The Priest. Obvio-husly."

The argument had stopped. They were preparing to resume their curious talking. Before they could, though, Mulcahy gave in.

"Would it help you at all to know that I have no *Blessed* idea what you are talking about?"

A new voice arose in the corner, that of Sydney Freedman's.

"No, it would not. Just sit down and we'll---talk."

The exasperation was showing on the Padre's face.

"Oh please, tell me. Are you Angels Of The Lord, testing me for some purpose?"

Hawkeye, then each one in turn, said, "Angels?" The Pierce image rubbed its chin.

"The Priest will explain this word."

Mulcahy sighed.

"I better start at the Beginning. In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth..."

In a place without time, Father John Patrick Francis Mulcahy taught all he knew about his faith and faith in general to the Prophets of Bajor. As he might have expected, there were a lot of questions. Several times Mulcahy felt the tug of the inherent conflict in what he was doing. But he could not pass up an opportunity such as this. They saved the most telling and terrible question for last, yet the boxer in the Padre was ready to go for it.

"Why does your God not intervene more often, and more visibly, on behalf of those who follow and believe in him?"

The question itself was inherently unsettling. To hear it from the mouth of Hawkeye Pierce was almost as much so. The answer came from both his own faith and the irreverent jocularity of the comrades he now saw before him in likeness.

"He may have promised no more Floods. He may have promised to look over those who hold to his Ten Commandments. He may have promised a Messiah and delivered unto us his only begotten Son. He may have promised that Son's return in Glory. But nowhere did he ever promise that life was going to be easy."

The answer did not satisfy Mulcahy. He was certain these Prophets, as he had learned to call them, would not be satisfied either. But he had done his best. He had spent all Eternity, it seemed relating his faith to beings who had inspired faith in others. Endless questions went into every nook and cranny of his knowledge. Suddenly, his faith shone so brightly within him, he felt like calling his new brother-in-law to forgive him. But the Prophets were satisfied. And they were not done with him yet.

Margaret spoke.

"You have given us much. Great is our debt to you."

Now Frank.

"To help the Sisko, however, we must place the Priest back in our debt. Sorry, Father.

BJ rose.

"What gift is great enough?"

Winchester .

"The One beyond Price. The love for the world."

Doctor Freedman.

"Captain Chandler was not the one. But The Priest shall see the true one."

Colonel Blake.

"He who fell for love shall be seen as he rises."

Colonel Potter.

"Make sense, man. The Priest must first be shown the Promise, not the Rising."

Trapper.

"It means a great deal to The Priest. The lie told to spare the family. The chocolate for the children. The toboggan cap."

Klinger.

"The Priest shall need light to see. The night will be dark, and cold."

Radar.

"For The Priest, who has shown so much to us who am/are of Bajor, a fleeting candle shall be lit in the skies."

Finally, the Hawkeye image spoke again.

"Take this gift. It shall be required, if you are to be in our debt again."

Mulcahy winced.

"I don't know if I can. You are not my God."

Hawkeye softened and smiled.

"It's time to have a little trust, Father. The woman speaks true."

With that, the office and the Prophets Of Bajor, wearing the forms of the MASH 4077th, vanished. Father Mulcahy was walking down a hill. He saw a commotion. He wondered what the Prophets had meant by putting him back in their debt.

"Oh, my, all those people. That bright light. It-it can't be."

In an instant, a good man's faith was fulfilled. The Prophets Of Bajor had sent him through time, but 1957 years before he left. They had promised to light a candle in the skies, and they had. As Mrs. Mulcahy's little boy fell to his knees, tears streaming, he heard the angels sing. The light from the 'candle' shone down upon a simple place. It was a small sleeping area where those who cared for the animals usually slept. But this night, they had opened it up to a woman once great with child, now delivered. Father Mulcahy saw the child very clearly, though his eyes were salty from the tears-tears of joy.

The other Mulcahy, the one with the odd, flat features, spoke to him.

"What is this place to you? What is it called?"

To John Patrick Francis Mulcahy, the time, place and what it all was to him was summed up in one word.

"Bethlehem."

Joyful to his heart of hearts, but nervous as he could be, the Padre gently turned down Mary's offer to hold the infant Jesus. Overwhelmed, he retreated from the manger as he saw a boy with animal skins tied tightly over hollow bowls approach. The tears of joy still flowed freely.

"Oh, my--the soldiers. I should tell Joseph..."

He stopped, unable to speak, and remembering that, even if he could form words, his Aramaic was terribly rusty. Suddenly, the realization kicked in that being back this far in time, he could do as much damage as good. He would regret not holding the Child, but he doubted his shaking hands and sweaty palms would help the young Lord sleep. He looked up.

"Thank You. I don't know if I deserve this...Strike that, for I know I don't deserve this. I have no words. There are no words."

Then, once again using the forms of the 4077th, the Prophets Of Bajor appeared.

"The Priest has seen the Promise. Would he see the Rising?"

Father Mulcahy's answer shocked both himself and the Prophets.

"No, Please. I don't think I could bear any more. Besides, the...Rising, as you call it, is actually more important to my beliefs than that which you call the Promise. The Rising must remain a matter of faith. If I see it, I don't have to believe in it any more. Let it remain a mystery. As it was meant to be."

Francis Mulcahy was torn, but felt he made the right decision.

"If anyone had told me I would be tempted with the possibility of seeing the Stone pulled away that First Easter, and refuse it, I'm---not quite sure what I would have told them."

He stopped.

"Probably what I told poor Keiko O'Brien. Heh. The woman speaks the truth, that's what you tried to tell me."

"The Priest is done, here. He considers himself in our debt."

Now, they were shifting between his friends so fast, he couldn't tell who was speaking.

"We ask the Priest, will your friends help you?"

Mulcahy's response was immediate.

"My friends will always help me--no matter what."

He saw only Hawkeye, Margaret, Trapper, and Charles. The images responded as one.

"Then help you they shall. The crossing needs balance."

With that, Father Mulcahy found himself back in the hospital chapel. He did two things: Gave thanks to God for his vision, and determined to apologize to the woman he now knew for certain was indeed Keiko O'Brien. As he moved to leave, though, his eye was caught by what seemed to be a wire leading from the confessional. A wire leading to a hidden recorder, now without tapes.

"Whoever did this – is without honor—and a big NINNY!!!"

* * *

"All I'm saying, Mrs. Klinger, is that me and my Harold were quite the tolerators when you and your Saudi Arabian husband moved in. Despite the fact that Maxwell has a - shall we say - checkered past? We welcomed him in, and even yourself, a person from Gookea-oh, ho,ho- I mean Korea. That's just my Harold talking. But he's a tolerator, too. We've even discussed, in passing, letting your half-Gookean children play with ours. Of course, we'll have to wait till they're past the age of impression. Not merely for the obvious reasons, though. No, I'm afraid, this goes far deeper. Your own children don't wish to be near you. I saw something like this coming, mind you, some months back. But I decided to be gracious".

Keiko couldn't believe what she was hearing. Mrs. Krause, their neighbor, was lecturing her on the care of her family. If it was Keiko's family, she'd have grabbed Worf's bat'leth and sent this woman to be with the Prophets. As it stood, though, Max and his children were not her family. Well, not her immediate family. Just her ancestors.

"Mrs. Krause, may I ask just what you meant by checkered? My---Max works very hard, and he doesn't drink or cheat on me."

Right now, though, Keiko almost wished Max would cheat on Soon-Lee. As long as Max believed Keiko to be his wife, those hands of his were a menace. A nice menace, to be certain. But one that needed some kind of release that was not related to him.

Heidi Krause looked stunned, as though she had never been challenged before. Keiko correctly reasoned that, either through intimidation or politeness or both, that she had never had been. Not by Soon-Lee, anyway.

"You lose that uppity tongue, girl. Why, I helped you when the other neighbors wouldn't even lend you a sponge to wipe off that awful paint those young hoodlums left. Mind you, it's a sponge I've YET to see back."

Now it was Keiko's turn to be stunned. Since being stuck in Soon-Lee Klinger's place, here in River Bend, Missouri she'd encountered a lot of odd things. But race hatred this overt was something out of Julian's Spy Holovid 'The Only Color Is Blood-Red'. Miles had played the villain.

"I mean, we allowed people such as yourself to come into River Bend, and you pay me back by..."

Old-fashioned hatred, just like Grandma Soon-Lee used to take. But Keiko was not her shy, soft-spoken ancestor. Heidi Krause now found this out.

"…I think I don't like your tone of voice, Mrs. Klinger, and furthermore..."

Keiko's boiling point had been reached.

"SHUT UP, Mrs. Krause. First off, you remind me of a stuck-up witch named Kai Winn. Nerys doesn't take it from her, and I am not taking it from you. Secondly, my husband, Max Klinger, is Lebanese. Thirdly, I am Korean, not Gookean -yes, that's just your Harold- and I frankly don't know if I want my children to play with yours. Oh, and lastly, Mrs. Krause, if you don't think you like my tone of voice...THEN I AM DAMN CERTAIN THAT I DO NOT LIKE THE TONE OF YOURS."

Applause was then heard. Standing in the door were Harold Krause and Max Klinger. Harold clapped loudest.

"Good going, Mrs. Klinger. Heidi, the way you've been treating this poor girl, it's a wonder you didn't catch this months ago."

Heidi Krause stormed out. Her husband followed, but not before saying,

"Sorry, Max, Soon-Lee. Heh. 'Gookean'. This from a woman who wants to outlaw all wooden shoe references in our Dutch-American Guild Meetings. She says it perpetuates a stereotype."

The kindly, but somewhat put-upon man then left to face some familiar music.

Max looked at Keiko with appreciative eyes. Such strength, he thought, when even Mr. Krause was afraid of Mrs. Krause.

"Soon-Lee, ya know, you've been catching way too much of that kinda prejudiced guff since I married you. I think that's what's been eating you."

Keiko smiled, but not too much. She didn't want to hurt this dear man by making him think that now was the time to make his move. Klinger was making a move, but not that one.

"Honey, come on down to Pershing with me. Mrs. Potter's making a picnic lunch. It'll be great, and you'll have her and the Colonel to play chaperone--if you want."

A picnic had an undeniable appeal. The day was bright, sunny, and Max was at least trying to understand. Plus, she could apologize to Father Mulcahy - if he believed her or not.

"I'll go, Max. But maybe, if you're good, maybe it'll be you who needs a chaperone's protection."

Keiko was, of course, lying about the possibility of intimacy, to spare Max's feelings. Problem was, Max was also lying about the picnic's true purpose.

Earlier that morning, after their arrival at Pershing General, Max and Colonel Potter had engaged in a long, hard discussion about the disposition of the woman they believed to be Soon-Lee.

"Colonel, there's no way I'm sending the woman I love into the bughouse. In my family, the husband wears the straightjacket."

Sherman T. Potter had known that broaching this subject with Max Klinger wouldn't be easy. Nothing had been easy for awhile. After the dismissal of the previous two Pershing General Administrators, Potter himself was now in charge. He cleaned house. Alma Cox cried, Wally Wainwright threatened lawsuit, and Dr. Dudko had a nervous breakdown. The Colonel put people he knew and could trust in charge of everything. Nurses from Korea, field Surgeons from WW2, and former company clerks like Sparky, who did his work and kept to himself. Fact is, Potter had only seen him once since he arrived. But one thing that had been easier was dealing with the new and improved Max Klinger.

The man suddenly was as sharp as Hawkeye, as quick as Margaret, as self-assured as Winchester, and had a memory like a steel trap. He was the star of the softball team, instead of just being an enthusiastic amateur. The files were well-kept and proper. Klinger credited it all to something Dorrie Taylor, the new staff psychologist, had done. Potter incorrectly thought it was a breakthrough in the science of the human mind. Little Maxine, born after the change in her dad, was the brightest infant on two legs. It was a breakthrough, all right, but not to do directly with the human mind.

In fifty years time, the breakthrough Dorrie Taylor treated Max Klinger with would bring the Earth to the brink of annihilation. She might find this acceptable. But to Potter, she was simply a godsend. He'd even asked her to treat a young man Potter had encountered during the war. No, Dr. Taylor could do no harm in the eyes of her new administrator. She and Potter now felt the need to convince Soon-Lee and Max of the same thing.

"Be reasonable, lad. Soon-Lee is not herself. You told me that even she and the children are apart from one another. Now, if that's not a sign of real trouble, I don't deserve to wear this bird. All I'm saying is let her rest up a mite. It can only do her good, Max. We'll set up her own little suite in the psych-ward. She can rest up without feeling the pressure to perform. Worked wonders for Mildred. Course', heh, she stayed with her cousin....But the point is, it helped. Soon-Lee just needs a bit more. Example: Max, what is your son's name?"

"Colonel...."

Klinger resisted, but Potter just smiled.

"Just humor the old bird. Now, Soldier, his name?"

Klinger gave in.

"To the public, he is Walter Sherman Klinger. On the birth records, he is Cy Young Klinger. Soon-Lee thought it was the name of a Korean baseball player."

Dorrie Taylor, in the office with them, had been quiet until then.

"And you don't consider that extremely odd?"

Max half-grinned.

"Nah, I just consider that extremely Soon-Lee. I think it's part of why I love her."

Taylor had already anticipated every last block Klinger would put up.

"If you love her, then help her. As I helped you."

Potter stopped at this.

"Now, hold up, Dorrie. What's good for the Max may not be good for the lady. Just hold off before we go too much into that train yard. Your miracle touch was needed for this lummox, but Soon-Lee's a good girl, and like as not just needs some standard psych guidance. "

Doctor Taylor promised to do as Potter asked. She would decide later on whether or not to keep her word. Max was still not buying.

"Guys, I love Soon-Lee, but...I dunno...I'd just as soon let this pass. Let her come around on her own."

Potter and Taylor looked back to one another. Potter spoke first.

"She's already come around, son. And it's bad."

As a thunderstruck Max listened, Dorrie Taylor explained.

"She came to me this morning, Max. Quite upset-and quite out of her mind."

Before Klinger could object, she spoke further. "Outside of the patient-client privilege, she confided in me her belief that she is not Soon-Lee Klinger. She thinks she is a space heroine named Keiko O'Brien of the 24th century."

Father Mulcahy was missing, for some reason, and would not be able to find out that Dorrie Taylor had listening devices in the chapel. In her mind, she'd soon have Soon-Lee confessing by that time, and ready for the treatment. With both her and Max having been readied, the experiment would continue apace, with a child that would make Maxine seem like an awkward half-wit. Floored, just as Potter was, Max agreed to sign Soon-Lee in to the psych ward.

Keiko arrived looking for Max, and found two beefy orderlies waiting instead. As Keiko was dragged into the mysteriously empty ward, kicking and screaming, she saw Dr. Taylor for the first time. She said only three words before being heavily sedated.

"Doctor Pulaski? Here?"

Outside the ward, Max was crying. Keiko hadn't been shy, relating her opinion of the situation and the man who would do this to her. He was trying to figure out what to tell the kids. Ironically, to the kids, their mother had been missing for over a week—but were now somewhat good with it. Colonel Potter came to console him.

"Son, if I tell you that you did what you had to, would it help at all?"

Klinger's face showed that it would not.

"Colonel, all that stuff about time-travel. Not only is it lulu, but Doctor Einstein said it couldn't happen. Course', these other fellas said it's kinda like a roll of the dice, and there's infinite sides to the die....ah, I gotta read up more. Advanced Physics still gives me a headache."

Potter was once again amazed by the increase in his former clerk's intellect.

"What exactly did Dorrie do to you again?"

Klinger thought about it for a moment-just to make things look good. Dorrie had warned him not to make other people look or feel bad about this.

"She called it - 'Genetic Acceleration.' It changed me. The Doc says pretty soon it could change the world."

* * *

"Ah, the charming Mrs. Klinger. You do a poor tailor a great honor."

Despite himself, Elim Garak liked Soon-Lee. Granted, she was exactly the kind of person whom he would have used in times past, to get what he needed. But that didn't mean he didn't like her. In her eyes he saw even in his run-down garment store regarded as a wonder. Besides, he knew that Dukat would absolutely hate her. Anyone he knew Dukat would hate, he liked. Finally, she was a woman well out of place. That reminded him of Ziyal. With Ziyal, the memories would always be fond ones.

"I am just looking around, Mr. Garak. You have so many lovely things, here."

Soon-Lee had never gone into a dress shop where the clerks didn't shift nervously, and where sleeping security guards didn't suddenly spring to life. She knew it was because she was not born American. River Bend, Missouri, was not a hateful place. But both she and Max noted different tones when people spoke to them. Somehow, even Max wasn't white enough for them. In sillier moments, she even wondered if these people thought Colonel Potter's hair was white enough. Not that anyone would ever dare tell him that it wasn't. But Soon-Lee was often very upset at what people would dare say to her. This she kept to herself, for it would only get Max in trouble for defending her.

But here, in the dream-world of Deep Space Nine, she was accepted. With so many strange people around, she wasn't even noticed. She knew it was a dream, for reasons of her acceptance, and many others. For example, the helmet-headed man called Worf actually did bring the little girl Molly a toy, and she hugged him like he was the first man she ever saw. Which in fact, he was. Worf's wife, Jadzia, who had the odd skin-markings, was also very nice. Soon-Lee found out all about the woman she had replaced from Jadzia Dax.

Her great –(and then some) granddaughter had fought robot-men, evil demons, dog-faced soldiers, and, when she had gotten sick, asked another woman - a Major like Margaret Houlihan - to have her baby for her. All this indicated that this was a dream. That's why she tried to seduce the handsome Miles O'Brien, by disrobing so often. She'd feel horrible if he really was her great-grandson- in-law, but he was a character out of a dream. Max would certainly understand. He often talked in his sleep about a woman named Rita. But she had Max when he was awake, and she thought that counted more.

"I think I know why you're here. I'll go get it."

Before Soon-Lee could object, Garak ran off to the backroom. There he would fetch an object that he had been weeks in restoring. As he left, Soon-Lee remembered the last bit of evidence that determined this was a dream-world. The station was run by a black man. In the real world, any Negro man who spoke, walked, and acted like the powerful, handsome Benjamin Sisko would be utterly destroyed. Soon-Lee knew that her mind was somehow seeing Colonel Potter as a black man. She didn't know why, but a lot of the whys and wherefores of both dreams and real life confused the young woman no end. She couldn't tell why a man like Sisko couldn't be in charge outside of her dream. She simply knew that he couldn't. Certain things just were. She was utterly confused by how long this dream was taking. When Garak came back out, however, confusion turned to stark terror.

------------------

"Chief, we're trying. Please understand that the Orb of Time has done this before, and it's always been for a reason, one that serves the Will Of The Prophets."

Miles O'Brien wasn't impressed with what Major Kira's argument.

"All I know, Major, is that neither Keiko nor I worship your precious wormhole aliens. So I don't care if she's needed to keep Adam and Eve from Original Sin. I just want her back, now. Mrs. Klinger is an exceptionally wonderful person, but I assume that her husband wants her back, too."

Based on what Keiko had often said about the subject of incest, Miles knew that Max Klinger was likely just as frustrated as him right now-relatively speaking.

"WORMHOLE ALIENS? Oh, that's terrific, Miles. Just dismiss the faith of an entire world, simply because you're not getting any..."

"Major that's enough. Firstly, Chief O'Brien is justified in feeling upset. I personally asked that the Orb Of Time never be brought on board again. Both as the CO of this station and as The Emissary Of The Prophets. I know its importance. But a major figure in Federation history nearly died in his prime because that Orb came into the wrong hands. Finally, may I ask why the government of Bajor finds it convenient to ask many things of The Emissary with full expectation that they will be carried out, but my requests on such matters are routinely ignored?"

Ever since the switch between Keiko O'Brien and Soon-Lee had taken place, Kira Nerys had been catching hell. From Sisko-The Captain. From Sisko-The Emissary. From Starfleet Temporal Authority. From the Vedek Council. From her former boyfriend, now head of Bajor's government. From her current boyfriend, fearful that the Orb could compromise station security. From Kai Winn, worried that the switch was a bad omen, and could hurt the faithful. The Kai, she expected it from. But she was hoping for a bit of understanding from the Chief. She was getting none. Captain Sisko had just crossed the line.

"I -- DON'T -- KNOW -- WHY -- SIR."

With that, she punched the desk. Sisko looked at the fist, and then slowly at her.

"Major, right now, you should be thankful that Bajor isn't in the Federation. If you had spoken to me that way in Starfleet, it would not have gone well for you. Add to that, having the Orb leave Bajor for any reason is plain foolishness in a war zone. We are at War with the Dominion, remember? Think what the Founders could do with that Orb. Speaking of Founders, where is the Constable?"

By now, Kira had resolved to accept her fate, and calmed down a bit.

"I don't know where Odo is, Sir. I apologize for my tone."

Her head was resting on her arm. She was obviously tired and had a headache she would talk to Julian about afterwards.

"As to why your requests are routinely ignored, please remember the woman through whom all such requests go. You know her. The word 'Emissary' catches in her throat when she says it to you. Kind of like the word 'Kai' catches in mine, when I say it to her. Finally, Chief-for the last time-I am sorry that Keiko is missing. But she is definitely alive, if you'll let me explain."

Sisko looked wary.

"I still don't care for your tone of voice, Major-but, in light of all the pressure you've been under, I'm happy to let it go."

Despite Bashir's quiet urgings to calm himself, Miles spoke again.

"Forgive me, sir, but I am not ready to let it go. I realize, Nerys, that you did not intend any of this. I'm sorry that the pressure has made me so damned irritable. But between Q, the Prophets, the enemies of The Prophets, and My God only knows who else, I am sick of these cosmic beings playing lab rat with us. Even in the name of Faith. I mean, I risked my wife's life to stop the Prophets from being slaughtered. Doesn't that earn us any points?"

Ready to explain the position of her beliefs, Kira stepped carefully.

"Chief it may be precisely because you helped them that the Prophets are doing this. It may be their idea…of a reward."

----------------

Garak wondered what he had done to offend Soon-Lee. He only knew that she had run out in a blind panic. He held up what he had shown her, and regarded it.

*There's nothing wrong with you, little dress. You're in remarkable shape for something over four centuries old, taken from a time capsule, no less. Especially with what Worf did to you. Strange that nice little woman is so upset. I thought this dress was the ancestral attire of Mr. Klinger. Oh, well.*

With that, Elim Garak carefully put away the last remaining piece of the once enormous Klinger Collection. He admired the workmanship, and knew quite well that not every man could wear a dress like this and look good in it. Morn certainly couldn't get away with it, though Garak had tried with all his might to find him something.

----------------

Jake Sisko saw Soon-Lee Klinger sitting alone, looking dazed. He was struck both by the oft-commented resemblance to Keiko O'Brien, and by the opportunity to interview a real mid-20th Century resident. As his friend Nog and their new acquaintance Alexander Rozehnko of the House Of Martok watched, he slowly approached her.

"Mrs. Klinger-Soon-Lee-Hi, I'm Jake Sisko, a reporter, and we're all fascinated by events in the 20th Century. Before we begin, could you just describe yourself for me?"

Her response was brief, to the point, and on the verge of hysteria.

"I am nothing but a faithless, shameful, wanton slut."

In tears, she fled, running into Jadzia Dax down the corridor. Jake stared in stunned silence. His two friends spoke in a whisper.

"His method of questioning leaves something to be desired."

Nog nodded.

"Tell me about it."

Jadzia tried to reach the staff meeting while at the same time calming a sobbing Soon-Lee. At the meeting, Kira attempted to explain the history of the Orb Of Time. When she was through, Miles was a bit calmer, but still had his questions.

"So, Nerys, you're saying that the Orb will shift people around as needed, for something as big as stopping a war, or as small as a lost family recipe. And they always return?"

Kira now felt on surer footing.

"Fifty known instances, Chief. They are always safe and sound, and better for the experience. We will get Keiko back. I swear on both my Fathers' graves."

Kira would have sworn on the Prophets, but she wasn't quite as sure as she let on. The long-term proved the benefits of the time shift, but the short-term could be hellish indeed. With proof of that, in walked Jadzia Dax. Soon-Lee ran over to Miles, hugged him, and got down on her knees.

"Oh, Miles. Can you and my many-times Great-Granddaughter forgive me? I thought this was all a dream. That is why paraded my naked body in front of you."

Miles didn't need to look to see everyone at the table staring at him. At least the dream part explained Soon-Lee's behavior-that, and Julian's little joke that was now a pronounced limp the Doctor would live with for a few days-and like it.

"There, There, Kiddo. Soon-Lee, what finally convinced you this wasn't all a dream?"

Miles finally felt safe around his wife's ancestor. With the sexual tension gone, he could help her to calm down.

"That nice Mr. Garak showed me one of Max's dresses. The one he buried in the time capsule. I've seen that dress in dreams before, but I always get the color wrong. Here, it is correct. This is all real. Miles, please forgive me."

Miles responded by kissing her on the forehead.

"Soon-Lee Klinger, I can honestly say I see so much of what I love in my Keiko in you, it floors me. Max Klinger is one hell of a lucky guy, and I am going to tell him that when I bring you back to him. Just one thing, "Grandma". Please don't let me see anymore of you than I should. Family love can be taken a bit far."

Miles was smiling, and so was Soon-Lee.

"I promise you will never see my birthday suit again. Besides, your quarters are cold. Waitaminute. You will see my body again. My granddaughter looks just like me even down to my..."

Miles gestured to cut her off, just as the men leaned forward, some unwittingly. Whispering, Julian Bashir spoke to Worf.

"Did I hear her say that the dress belonged to her husband? That isn't mentioned in the files."

Worf responded.

"Not every man can look good in that kind of dress. It takes a certain sort."

Julian just stared at Worf, after that. He then felt a sharp, painful kick to his injured leg. Soon-Lee apologized.

"Oh, Doctor, Sorry. I am so clumsy. You know me, I can't even adjust bathrobe filter."

With that, she left with a much calmer looking Miles. Kira wrote down material on the ritual necessary to activate the Orb, and Bashir remembered she wanted to ask him something. For now, though, only one thought swam through his head.

"The same LEG. Aaahh."

He would keep in mind to avoid little Molly.

Sitting in his office, a few hours later, Sisko did not treasure the thought of time travel. Too close, too many times. He'd have to have Dax remove her Trill markings, and have Chief O'Brien pretend to be his superior, in that era. No sense drawing attention.

"Captain, I'm going with you in place of Dax."

Before Captain Sisko could object, he noted that Kira had had her face surgically altered to look Terran.

"Major, I once asked you to do this, and you wouldn't. Pride, you said. Why now?"

Kira didn't hesitate.

"Captain, in the final analysis, I put Keiko in this position. I should go along with you to extract her. So long as no one on Bajor finds out about this surgery, I'll be fine. I owe her, and not just for this. She entrusted me with her child's life. That induces a debt that..."

Sisko surrendered.

"All right, Major, I'll allow this. But for this assignment, you ARE Starfleet. That means you take orders from me, and not the Will Of The Prophets. Am I understood?"

Kira nodded that he was. Odo entered Sisko's office, and his appearance immediately drew stares.

"Please forgive my missing the meeting, Captain. I had the oddest dream, about a Star, and a Birth, it was....Why are you both staring at me?"

Odo was not in his usual uniform. He had formed from himself a white-yellow sun hat, and was wearing 20th Century Army Fatigues. Add to that, he was wearing a Catholic priest's collar. For some reason he was unaware of this. They all, however, heard Soon-Lee Klinger in the distance.

"Molly, why is the man with the odd face dressed like Father Mulcahy?"

"Oh, Grandma, that's just Odo. He's nice, but silly."

Odo looked at himself.

"From the mouths of babes...."

In the Twenty-Fourth Century, the ritual was complete. Kira's research indicated that the Orb would send them back, along with Soon-Lee, to 1957, somewhere outside of River Bend, away from prying eyes. Captain Sisko, Major Kira, an increasingly anxious Chief O'Brien and Doctor Bashir, all in mid-20th Century garb, vanished in a flash of light. Two problems were immediately noticed by Worf and Dax. One was that Soon-Lee did not go with them. She was still there. The second problem: four strangers appeared in their friends' places. One of them, wearing a loud shirt, took one look at Worf and quipped.

"What is this, a Halloween party? I wish someone had sent out the invites."

Worf had a bad feeling about this.

"I can assure you, Sir, that this is no Halloween party. I am Lieutenant Commander Worf, and this is my wife, Jadzia Dax. You are...?"

The man seemed less thrown off than one might expect.

"Well, not that I have any idea what the hell's going on, but this is Margaret Houlihan, Charles Emerson Winchester---The Third, and lastly but not leastly, Trapper John McIntyre. Oh, and that tolerant lady waving at me seems to be Soon-Lee Klinger. Myself, I'm Hawkeye Pierce, and are you absolutely sure this isn't Halloween? Beej? You out there? You set this up?"

Worf merely sighed, and Jadzia with him.

* * *

Since she was one of the only women there, Keiko O'Brien awoke in a private section of the Pershing General Psychiatric Ward, one that might otherwise be reserved for a visiting dignitary in need of care. But it was the same place Max Klinger had been kept, during his 'treatment.' Any VIP would have to go elsewhere.

The entire psych ward was, for all intents and purposes, the private bulwark of Doctor Dorian Taylor. More than her department, it was her fiefdom. When Sherman Potter allowed this, he had no clue that he was, slowly but surely, surrendering control of his hospital to a very smart lady whose agenda tied in with some very grim forces.

These forces, within and without the governments of the world, had told people successfully that Roswell merely involved a weather balloon, and that any rumors of a big-eared alien looking to make a weapons deal with Truman were just that- rumors. They were able to clear meteorites containing extremely viable samples of non-terrestrial DNA from the site of a KTO medical facility. They were able to order that Medical Unit's first commander to keep his mouth shut on this subject. When that CO was headed home, they were perhaps even able to enforce that silence under the guise of enemy fire-quite permanently.

In forty years' time, this Project: Immunita would serve as the second tier in a vast conspiracy involving human-alien hybrids. It would also serve as the backbone for an underground of genetic supermen, manipulating events where they could, such as Bleeding Bosnia, and moving forward with shows of strength when necessary. In a pompous and yet quite compelling speech in 2003, their leader - Khan Noonien Singh would name Doctor Dorian Taylor as his 'Mother', "If such as I could be said to have a Mother."

Right now, Keiko O'Brien was at her mercy. 'Mother' was the first half of one of many words that Keiko might use to describe this woman who had tricked Max Klinger into committing the woman he firmly believed to be his wife, Soon-Lee. She checked herself. Thankfully, she was dressed, though in one those supremely awkward 20th Century hospital gowns, the ones she was sure were invented by someone with an obsession for a certain part of the human body. It didn't matter, though. With her body belted to the bed, she couldn't get up anyway. She almost felt grateful that she was not strait-jacketed. But her anger at this bizarre circumstance arrogated any relief at minor comforts.

"Doctor Pulaski."

Keiko stirred. Dorian Taylor was speaking to her, indeed hovering over her. Her face could not hide the hatred she felt for this woman.

"What did you say?"

"I didn't. You did. Right before you were sedated, Soon-Lee, you looked at me as though we'd never met, and said, 'Doctor Pulaski? Here?' What did you mean by that?"

"I was confused, Doctor Taylor. My husband had just locked me away on the word of a woman who apparently has Father Mulcahy's confessional bugged in some way. I confessed that strange daydream I had, and you used it to put me here for some reason."

"Nice try, Soon-Lee. You really are cleverer than you seem. But you were sobbing, and tried very hard to convince Mulcahy that you are your own descendant, Keiko O'Brien-Kirk, Commander Of Deep Six Nine in the 24th Century, leader of the Bajor unit. Am I correct?"

Keiko managed to avoid smiling.

"Gee, those microphones picked up absolutely everything with clistal crarity."

Keiko hoped the arrogant doctor wouldn't detect the deliberately slurred words. She didn't.

"So you concede that you do have this delusion of a future life, likely in some egalitarian society where an Oriental girl like yourself can rise to the top?"

"Firstly, Doctor, I am not an 'Oriental Girl', I am an Asian woman. And why not concede my delusion? After all, you're admitting to bugging a Confessional. I'd rather have my delusion of --Deep Six Nine-- than your apparent delusions of grandeur, any day of the week, and twice on Tuesday."

The Doctor was not even listening to Keiko.

"Firstly, 'Asian Woman' , if you try to tell anyone about my --double-blind-- research conducted with Father Mulcahy's unwitting help -- well, let's just say that gown can be lost and a strait-jacket gained. Not to mention the company of a few guards I know whom the female patients don't really like to be left with. Secondly, that voice. That diction. Your markedly increased vocabulary. All signs that direct treatment is perhaps unnecessary. It seems that by virtue of being with Max and bearing little Maxine, genetic enhancement may have already taken place. That's good, really. I was starting to run out of the pure batches. A diluted batch will be all you'll need. The resulting enhanced sexual drive will have you and Max happy and productive-especially productive. Maxine's little brothers and sisters will make the end of the Twentieth Century a paradise of strong, able individuals, reaching for the stars."

To a person like Keiko, from the Twenty-Fourth Century, Doctor Taylor may as well have been a World War One Austrian Corporal, bragging in 1917 how he would one day deal with Europe's 'undesirables.'

"My God. You've genetically accelerated Max. Maxine was conceived after...Oh, No. The Eugenics Wars. Doctor Taylor, you have to stop this. Your experiments, however well meaning, will lead to hideous wars of genocide late in this century."

It all made sense now. Max's almost obnoxious efforts to bed his unwilling 'wife'. The oddly calm way Max seemingly gave in to Taylor's request. Both were signs of the personality detachment that Julian Bashir had spoken of as happening to him, after his early childhood enhancement. No one could be more detached, though, than Dorian Taylor.

"A bit histrionic, aren't we, Soon-Lee? Oh, I forgot, you're from the future. it's my fault, really; apparently the second-hand effect of my treatment caused the unintended derangement I noted in some, like poor dear Eddie. A booster shot, if you will, should complete the process of emotional release. Your Max will have his wife back, and at the same level as he. You'll be like newlyweds for decades to come. A pity I can't study the main subjects, but that's another part of our little venture. We call it ..."

Keiko, shaken, finished for her. She was stumbling, badly, and needed to see some hope soon, or lose her mind to despair.

"You call it Immunita. Where I come from, everyone knows about Immunita. A project that works under the guise of dealing with viruses that out-evolve antibiotics. But its true purpose would have done 'Uncle Adolf' proud. In fact, considering how many of his scientists were in on the ground floor of all this, maybe he is proud, somewhere in Brazil. It's just the same old wolves over sheep garbage that has plagued our race since before we could think. My only question is, how does a staff psychiatrist at a VA Hospital, in 1957, come across the material and knowledge to genetically enhance anyone?"

Keiko was grasping at straws, hoping to scare Taylor somehow. But the Doctor wasn't thrown off. Far from it.

"If I were a Nazi, Soon-Lee, would I be giving this incredible gift to you or Max? I think not. Would I be the only one in my family to support my sister's marriage to Joseph Pulaski? Yes, that name again. Even delusions like yours have connective threads with reality. As for the rest, I was a biochemist, minoring in biophysics. An incredible find - on the site of the 4077th, no less, gave us access to meteorites that may contain still-living material from other worlds. Humanity is being bumped up the long ladder, and you and Max are Patients Zero in this effort to overcome our limitations as a species. Believe you me, if the other parts of our project should succeed, humanity will need to be advanced. That one little psycho with his chain-smoking...he actually tries to hide it. He and his friends are really dangerous. You're lucky you ended up with me."

"I don't feel so fortunate myself, Doctor Taylor. And, for the record, I was wrong. Except for certain facial characteristics, you are nothing like the woman I thought you were. She found people like you reprehensible."

Keiko determined that, if she ever returned to her own time, she would get in touch with Kate Pulaski. She had to know about her family line, even if the truth hurt. But here and now, the woman everyone believed to be Soon-Lee Klinger was running out of hope. Then, in walked a thrill of hope, in the person of Father Francis Mulcahy. Behind him was Colonel Potter. Apparently, Keiko's harsh words to Max upon her committal kept him away.

"Soon-Lee, you shouldn't say those kinds of things to Doctor Taylor. Especially in my presence. I am the Lord's ---Emissary--- in this place. Why, for that kind of talk, I should quote to you from Isaiah, Ezekiel, and perhaps some other --timeless Prophets. Why, when it comes to evil and sin, I'm kind of a heavenly--Sisko--kid."

Colonel Potter stared hard at his friend.

"Padre, is your collar too tight today? What in bloody blue blazes are you jabbering about, man?"

Keiko, whose upper body restraints the Father undid despite Taylor's objections, smiled for the first time that day.

"It all right, Colonel. I wish to speak to Father alone for few minutes. All right with Doctor and Colonel?"

Imitating what she believed Soon-Lee's style of speech to be, Keiko convinced Potter to accede to her request. Taylor made a mental note to speed up her plans regarding Potter.

"Oh, Father will you forgive me for yelling at you? How do you know those things?"

"If you'll forgive me, Keiko, for not believing in you and apparently allowing one of my most sacred vows to be violated without my knowledge. Dorrie-is not quite the person we thought she was. I don't know how I'll approach Colonel Potter on this, but I will. As to how I know, let's just say some confused and confusing Angels wearing MASH clothing told me the woman speaks true. Still can't account for that odd fellow with no features. I'd swear he changed shape, as well."

"Well, Father, it only makes sense. Those *angels* are the ones who got me into this mess. Them and a good friend who's really lucky I owe her the life of my son."

As Keiko and Francis tried to reason a way to get her out of Doctor Taylor's clutches, some four-hundred-fifty years hence, a dilemma threatened Worf Rozehnko of the Houses Of Mogh and Martok.

"Station's Log, Lieutenant Commander Worf reporting. The station has fallen to a force of what I can only describe as pure chaos in human form. Because of the critical role he plays in the history of the Federation, I may not move to control him, even in a limited way. It has only been twelve hours, but everyone, including my wife, dances now to the tune of irresponsibility this mad trickster plays. His friends are of no help, for they are too dumbstruck by their new surroundings. The name of this force of chaos is..."

"Oh. Sorry to barge in, Worf. Listen, your son and his two friends wanted to hear my and Trapper's story about trying to get that boot. Oh, you better make reservations at the holosuite--Quark tells me that nurses' shower program is a real hit. He's ticked, though, cause I cleaned him out at Dabo. Remember, you and Jadzia, me and Margaret, at Vic's place tonight. Abyssinia."

"The name of this force of chaos is BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 'HAWKEYE' PIERCE!"

Worf knew things could only get worse from there, and that they did promptly.

* * *

"Do not defend him, Jadzia. Because of his meddling, we are on the verge of an all-out Dominion attack. Even now, the forces of the Federation and its allies await the arrival of a man who will never come."

"Look, Worf. Hawkeye, Trapper, Charles and the boys were looking to recreate an innocent prank, and it got out of hand. Granted, the results of said prank do have Damar and Weyoun moving against us with a rather large Dominion force, intent on capturing our 'hero'. But what harm did it all do? Forget I said that."

"I shall. Ensign Nog. Do you know why you are the one explaining this disaster to me?"

"Sir. I believe I do, Sir. We of the Academy are expected to tell the truth at all times, and avoid the loathsome fate of Cadet Crusherrrr----that Doctor's son, whoever he was. I-I certainly wasn't talking about your dear friend, Sir. Also, Sir, I am here because you terrify me, Sir."

"So long as we understand each other, Ensign. Now, from the beginning...if this debacle has a beginning."

"Oh, rest assured it does, Sir. You see, Captain Pierce and Jake got into a story-telling contest. Each one trying to top the other. Alexander and I listened as they did. Heh. Ever since Captain Pierce and his friends were transported here, they seem to have taken over the station."

Nog noted the intense stare Worf was giving him. Jadzia's look was only marginally more sympathetic. He got back to the subject.

"Well, it all started after the unpleasantness between Major Houlihan and her eminence, the Kai. Jake and Hawkeye-Captain Pierce lets everyone call him Hawkeye-I Call him Ben-right, subject-get through telling the stories of the baseball and the boot. The lengths we all went to, in our separate times. Well, just then, a noise breaks out near the Bajoran Shrine..."

With a dull thud, the Kai hit the wall opposite where the dueling storytellers were engaged in their private competition. She cowered while Margaret Houlihan came in for the kill.

"Oh, your Grace. Did I accidentally elbow you in the jaw while you were telling those amusing stories you heard about the Irish on Earth? Silly me. I should've punched you straight in the jaw, you stuck-up, mealy - mouthed, hypocritical future excuse for a holy person."

"I will pray for the Prophets to keep you, Child. In your own time, far away from me."

Wishing to withdraw as quickly as possible, Kai Winn didn't notice the eyes of the Vedeks upon her. If eyes could clap, all of them would have been in serious trouble. Hawkeye Pierce grabbed up his sort-of fiancée.

"Margaret, if we're gonna get married, I can't have you punching out every religious hypocrite. Father Mulcahy will have no one to play Bingo with."

"Married? Pal, I still need a few things from you, before that happens."

"Such as?"

"A ring, a date, plans, oh, and let's not forget about that silly old PROPOSAL."

At that, Margaret stalked off, to talk with Jadzia Dax about medical advances in the future. They had all accepted their new surroundings remarkably fast, and found things to do. Trapper worshipped the holosuites. Charles found a somewhat kindred spirit in Garak. Margaret wandered the station, looking stunned, and enduring questions about 'barbaric' 20th century behavior. On a few persistent ones, Margaret demonstrated such behavior. Sickbay, luckily, was open twenty-four hours a day.

Hawkeye Pierce, of course, simply took over the station. Some parties he started were still going on, without him. That left time for his storytelling contest with Jake, which Trapper was kind enough to finish. Pierce's throat was tired, so he heard anew the one story that was sure to put these three future kids in their place. The one these space-punks couldn't possibly top. No one could. Ever.

"So you see, Jake, he served his purpose and went away. Poof. We scammed them all, had them in mourning. Sorry, Winchester, but I daresay this beats your Marilyn Monroe epic."

"Truly inspired, McIntyre. I concede that. Heh. Pierce never told me that one. People are truly silly, gullible creatures. Oh, forgive, me, ge-hentlemen. I must speak to Mrs. Klinger, ere I forget."

Charles left to speak with Soon-Lee. But Jake wasn't conceding anything.

"Cute story, Trapper. But we win."

"How do ya figure, kid? That one beats all."

"In your time, maybe. But Nog and I tried to fool people like that, and it didn't work. People nowadays are too sophisticated. That kind of scam can't work now."

Nog agreed.

"Built-in skepticism. My uncle, heck, my Father would see through that nonsense in seconds."

Alexander hesitated.

"I don't know, fellows. Pride seems to drive Klingons, and pride is what drove Hawkeye and Trapper's efforts. No one willing to admit the truth. Of course, this is a more open era, for such matters. No, no, Nog and Jake are right. It was a product of its times."

"Trap, do you think Margaret will forgive me?"

"Hawk, One- She loves ya, you lucky dope. She'll cool off. Two - These young toughs have challenged their betters. I say, we show them how it's done. it's time we brought HIM back."

So it was that the five saboteurs made their way into an inactive, non-classified personnel database. While they did so, there were other goings on, as there tend to be in these cases.

Charles saw Soon-Lee with a child he knew to be Molly O'Brien. The little girl asked him the same question every time.

"Mister, why'd ya blowup the Enterprise over Veridian III? I liked that place. I grew up there."

"What a----cha-haharming child. Soon-Lee, may I ask you a question?"

"Each of us has one in their own quarters, Doctor Winchester. No latrine here."

"No, thank you, my dear, that's not an issue. My question was, in your week and a half here, are there any do's and don'ts you've come across? Anything would be of help."

"Hmm. Just one. Whatever you do, do not take your clothes off. They are very squeamish about that, here."

Charles watched Soon-Lee walk off, and stared at her as she did.

"She's as thick as a brick, and sickeningly cheerful. And to think--I feared Max Klinger would never find the perfect woman for him."

"Doctor Winchester."

"Ah, Mr. Garak. How may I help you?"

"Oh, just by promising never to talk down to that dear, sweet, Mrs. Klinger, ever again. If you do speak to her that way again, I'll make you a three-piece suit."

"I'm confused. And, Eeelim, I do not need a three-piece suit."

"Oh, but Charles. I wasn't going to make the suit for you. I was going to make it FROM you. So, do be a gentleman and watch your step."

Garak cheerfully departed. Disgusted, Charles saw and stopped Worf.

"I say, Commander Worf. Your Mr. Garak threatened my life. Said I had annoyed him. What will you do about it?"

"I will advise you not to annoy him anymore."

"Ahhh, I ---see. By the way, why on Earth do you keep looking at me? Do I look some fellow Klingon, or somesuch?"

"No. You merely remind me of a brilliant scientist I once had the pleasure to meet, a Doctor Timicin. You look a great deal like him."

"Well, a great mind. Is there any way I could get in touch with him?"

"I do not think so. Upon turning sixty, he committed ritual suicide, according to the laws and customs of his people. Good day, Doctor."

"Good day, Commander. Sturdy people these Klingons. Dense as rocks. I OWWW."

"AND that's for killing Jake's Mommy."

"Molly. You should not kick Doctor Winchester."

As Soon-Lee dragged the vengeful child off, Charles decided that the future had its problems.

Unneeded by the other planners, a dejected Trapper went into Quark's to have a drink. Rom was temporarily helping out his brother, who wanted to try out the nurses' shower holosuite program Trapper had suggested.

"The hard stuff, Doctor McIntyre?"

"You know it, Pal. Hey, uh, Rom?"

"Yes, Trapper?"

"Did you ever feel like a supporting character in your own life's story? Like you were just there to support someone else?"

"Well, yes. But after the first forty years you get used to it."

"Thanks a lot, Rom."

"Oh, anytime, Trapper. I like giving out advice. No one usually comes to me for it."

The conspirators completed their work.

"Species-Daxamite. Rank: Captain Ship: A Prototype Prometheus X, with refractive coating, the USS Henry Blake. Present in a supporting role in every major Federation - Dominion battle. Temporary Assignment: The Defiant."

Jake smiled.

"Hawkeye, this will never work."

"But work it did. Soon, everyone claimed to know this man, have fought beside him, been with him, gone to the academy with him. Except for you two, and us six, nobody even knows that the hero they're all best friends with--is a fraud. A few words whispered in my Uncle's bar, and soon everyone knows-or thinks they do. There have even been fights over who knows him best. The Klingons think he has Klingon blood, and the Romulans claim him, too. Everyone does. Sir, we never meant..."

"That will be all, Ensign."

Gratefully, Nog up and left, passing a look of pity to Hawkeye and his friends as they went in the office.

"Are you aware of what you have done, Pierce? Listen to this recording."

*This is Weyoun, representing the interests of the Dominion. You are harboring a war criminal. Unless your great hero is remanded to us for trial, we shall begin an all-out attack that Bajor shall not withstand. You have Twenty hours to surrender the Defiant's new Commander, Captain Jonathan Tuttle.*

Hawkeye and the others stared dumb-founded at the recording.

"Well, uh, Worf...This is the future, right? Don't you have the technology to simply build a Tuttle?"

Surprisingly, Worf did not scream. He merely leaned his head against his arm, and sighed.

"No, that won't do it. We will have to think of something else. Like many other things in this time period, it is against regulations to build a sentient being, the sole exception being a friend of mine."

Hawkeye looked up to Margaret, who tried to comfort the shaken surgeon.

"Jadzia told me everything will be fine, darling. They'll figure something out."

"But what if they don't, Margaret? My God, what If I've caused a War?"

In River Bend, Missouri, 1957, Dorrie Taylor had guards loyal to her shuffle the unconscious Sherman T. Potter off to the psych ward. The Colonel never thought to check his coffee.

Sitting at Potter's desk, smiling a broad smile at Dorrie Taylor was--Sherman T. Potter.

"Remember, 'Colonel', keep both Max and the Priest away from Soon-Lee. We're entering a critical stage, here. Remember who's in charge."

After she left, the man with Potter's face said,

"Oh, we know who's in charge, Doctor. And we know how to deal with the Priest---and the Sisko."

The eyes of General Bartford Hamilton Steele the Third glowed a baleful red.

* * *

Mildred Potter was one of the smartest women you could ever hope to meet. She was the full equal, and then some, of her husband, Colonel Sherman T. Potter. She had told him to help the kids invest in those new laundromats, and it had worked out beautifully. She had told him not to let his old buddies at the Pentagon commandeer the 4077th's first reunion for their purposes; The disaster that occurred in Tokyo almost made her regret being right. Ironically, their grandchildren all wanted 'Gojira' toys the next Christmas. She had also told him not to trust Dorian Taylor. This time, when the imposter posing as her husband came home in his place, she did regret being right. Mildred made a vow never to rub this in, if only she could get her husband back.

"You okay, Mildred?"

"Oh, fine, honeysuckle. However is Soon-Lee doing? The poor thing up and around, yet?"

"Now, Mildred. I told you that's classified. Don't ask again."

"Sorry, honeysuckle."

A number of things were clues to the engaging Mrs. Potter, that this man was a fake. One thing she noted was simple presence. Sherman commanded respect; This man demanded it, as though he didn't often get it. For another, if something was truly classified, her husband simply didn't even mention it to her. From the instant this fraud brought up classified as an excuse for poor Soon-Lee's condition, she knew her little town was turning into something out of a Firestone Mystery Theatre Radio-Play.

The best clue was that Sherman hated being called 'HoneySuckle with a vengeance. She now knew that Soon-Lee was in terrible danger, as was her husband. But what could she do, and how could she prove anything? Then it came to her to seek out the other person who had been deprived of their spouse: Max Klinger. Right now, though, she wasn't very fond of Max, for so readily signing his wife into a psych-ward, no matter how odd her behavior. Her low opinion of Klinger was shared, though, by Klinger himself.

*Okay, Max, let's review. You know that stuff Doctor Taylor gave you made you smarter, stronger, etc. Why, though, did it turn you into a prize chump? Specifically, the Doc's prize chump?*

Having put the children to bed, Max Klinger was by himself-again. He felt one inch tall for having put 'Soon-Lee' - in reality the time-switched Keiko O'Brien - in the care of a woman he no longer trusted.

*All of a sudden, I'm all hands. No wonder Soon-Lee turned away from me. Nobody just likes to be grabbed, but I'm grabbin'. Worse, I feel like Max Klinger's drifting away. I'm so far removed from who I was that I signed my wife away on almost no say-so. Worse, she admits telling Father Mulcahy her weird story, but not Doc Taylor, who lets it pass without comment. Easy Math = Dorrie listenin' in where she oughtn't. Jeez, what a stupe. I mean, Radar would have seen right through that malarkey. Now, the Doc won't even let me see her, and the Colonel - if that is him - is backing her up, with his eyes going bloodshot every so often. So, bottom line : My wife says she's from the future, my psychiatrist is a mad scientist in the present, and my CO, if I'm right, is a mean character out of the past.*

Max then noticed a man standing in his house's front doorway. He wondered how long he had been there.

"Could have been years, the way I feel right now. Can I help you, pal?"

"Uh, yes. I'm--looking for a Max Klinger?"

"Oh, boy. What bill did I forget to pay now? Wait-since that genetic enhancement junk, I don't forget anything anymore----except not to mention it."

The man's eyes were wide as saucers, and his face drained of color.

"Genetic Enhancement? Someone boosted your DNA?"

"Yeah, yeah-DNA. That's what Doc Taylor called it, when she gave me that stuff. Waitaminute- how'd you know about it-for that matter, who the hell are you?"

"Max-I'm-I'm not supposed to tell you this, but if Immunita is involved, then I have no choice, I need your cooperation."

"Immunita. Those Bums? Oh, boy, Doc Taylor's been glad-handing everyone. Great. Just great. It all makes sense. They did to me like they did to Hawkeye and the Major. I've thrown in with the people who killed Colonel Blake. Perfect record, Max."

"Max. Please listen. The woman you believe to be your wife is in fact my wife. My name is Miles O'Brien, and we are both from the Twenty-Fourth century, and that's where Soon-Lee is - safe and sound. Believe me, I know how this sounds. Wait, here's a picture of us and our kids."

At that, Miles pulled out a small holo-matrix, which issued forth a holo-graphic portrait of Miles, Keiko, Molly, and the new baby. Behind them were the children's godparents, Worf and Kira. Max looked at it, completely stunned. O'Brien had thought about using his phaser as proof, but figured that a gentler touch was called for.

He would have liked to have found another way to do this, without telling Max Klinger who he really was. But two things complicated that. One was that, instead of the real Soon-Lee, Constable Odo was their fifth passenger through time, so no simple switch was possible. Why this happened, no one was sure - no one but the Prophets, of course. The second thing was that the presence of Immunita - the underpinning of both the Eugenics Wars and the human-alien hybrid colonization effort of the early 21st Century - meant that this situation was no longer simple snatch 'n' grab.

"Well either you're legit, or I'm dreaming. There's no way you can fake this--this-I can't call it a photo, can I? So she is this 'Keiko'. But how is it my wife and your wife are identical twins? C'mon, Miles. In for a penny..."

"In for a pound, I know. Ah, Captain Sisko's going to have a cow, but he will anyway, when he hears about Immunita. Alright, Max, here it is, straight. Keiko is Soon-Lee's direct descendant. Your wife's distinctive features repeat about five times in the next four centuries that we know of."

"Oh, I get it. So, Keiko is my wife's great-great etcetera granddaughter. Anyone else I know related to your wife, cause' there's something not quite clicking here? I'm smarter, now, but I'm missing something--what is it?"

"Well, your daughter Maxine is her next most traceable ancestor, if that helps. Max--why are you buying what I'm selling right off, picture or no?"

"Oh, that. Listen, Miles, once you've seen a giant lizard destroy Tokyo, been chased by a playful Highlander looking to cut your head off with his sword, and been visited by a vampire, time-travel just starts to make sense."

"Uh--Ok. What isn't clicking, Max, because I can try and help."

"Nah, I gotta get this myself. So, if both Soon-Lee and Maxine are your wife's ancestors, then, hey, so am I. Wow, that's terrific. Keiko is my multi-granddaughter, too, which means..."

Max's face grew ashen, then pale, and altogether quite sickly.

"Awww, no. I tried to put the moves on my own great-granddaughter. I saw her...undressed. I grabbed her..tried to slip...oh, My God. I'm a sleazeball. In prison, guys like me are lower than snitches. Bad enough I tried to cheat on my wife... They'll have to take my kids away. I'm a danger to them-to all kids. Oh, Max, howdja sink so low? Don't answer that."

Miles tried to understand Max's angst, but it was so tied up in Twentieth century views on sexuality, it was hard to even begin.

"Max, did anything happen between you and my wife?"

"No. Not for lack of my trying. Geez, it all makes sense. Her lack of an accent, the way she moved - but I wanted her to be Soon-Lee. Miles, punch me."

"Why, if nothing happened?"

"Because, I was scamming for a glimpse, every time she got dressed. Whatever I could see, whenever I could see it. I even watched her, while she was showering. I'll bet you weren't gawking at my wife's birthday suit."

Miles had to laugh, at that.

"One thing's for damned sure, Max. We're family. Now for the hard part. O'Brien to Sisko. Sir, we are facing a situation - Temporal Prime Directive Addendum Five."

Max looked over at Miles.

"Great Walkie-Talkie. So small, too. Hey, if you don't mind, what's its range?"

"Oh, this is a low-power model. Somewhere round past Ottawa, the Northern Lights simply kill the reception."

"Er, uh, eee, Doncha just hate that?"

Not knowing that O'Brien had hit pay dirt right at Max Klinger's house, Julian Bashir headed towards General Pershing Veterans Hospital. He was surprised to find that the legends were true, that Twentieth Century air really did taste different. The air on Twenty-Fourth Century Earth was cleaner, to be sure, but it had been scrubbed clean. This was pure to begin with. Bashir noted an unused loading bay in back of the hospital, and a woman playing racquetball against its cemented back wall. She was quite good.

Dorian Taylor had given herself one of the strongest doses of the heady brew that brought about genetic enhancement. The meteors taken from the site of the 4077th had been a godsend. Unlike those taken from the Siberian meteor strike of 1908, they contained no actual living creatures of extraterrestrial origin. In effect, Immunita had an edge over its allies and sponsors at the Consortium. The Consortium had the greater finds - the aliens themselves. But Immunita had the less volatile more readily manipulated alien genetic material found in the Korean Sky-Stones.

Uncaring about her observer, Taylor continued to bounce the ball in harder, wider, arcs, her racquet seeming to spark as she did. She remembered Immunita's origins, born from the plague-ridden country-sides of post-World War Two Europe. With extreme poverty and extreme filth came disease. In a trend that would carry throughout the century, some diseases began to show signs of resistance to antibiotics.

While this never panned out, worries about this potential problem combined with fears of bacteriological warfare led to a joint effort between the U.S. government and the pharmaceutical industry called Project: Immunita. Its goal shifted quickly from the mere creation of stronger antibiotics to helping enhance the human immune system itself. In late 1950, the leaders of the Immunita project were approached by members of a Consortium which counted among its members General Bartford Hamilton Steele the Third. After this, Immunita's base of operations was shifted to war-torn Korea, near the medical unit where the genetic material was recovered.

There, that unit's Chief Surgeon and Head Nurse were subjected to the strongest dosages ever attempted. That this was done without their knowledge bothered no one at Immunita. While all other unwitting recipients died, those two were bumped very far up the long ladder of evolution. As the preparations were made to capture and dissect these two, Immunita learned who was holding the leash. The Consortium wanted these two subjects let alone, for their own purposes. So it was that Immunita had to make do with hair and other samples surreptitiously taken from Captain Pierce and Major Houlihan.

Studying these, though, they gained information that enabled the reproduction of those same effects. Though no longer able to produce superhumans, Immunita now was able to create superior humans. These people would have abilities would reach the upper human boundaries, although not vastly exceed them like Pierce and Houlihan.

Dorian Taylor had been there every step of the way, and had been her own test subject, as well. She wondered why she didn't have the personality detachment that Max and some others complained of; She didn't have enough insight to realize that one must first have a personality in order to lose touch with it. Keiko O'Brien and Sherman Potter, both prisoners in her psych ward, could have told her this, though it's doubtful she would have listened. It was never her strong suit.

Intrigued and entranced by her racquetball efforts, Julian Bashir walked up to Doctor Taylor.

"Hello. I'm Doctor Julian Bashir. I was---watching you play. You're very good."

"I'm Dorian Taylor, staff psychologist here at 'General General', and Yes, I am good at this. Are you?"

"Have you a spare racket?"

"I do."

"Then, by all means."

"By ANY and all means."

Since Bashir's enhancements were more carefully directed, he had the edge in speed, strength, and stamina. But he did not have Taylor's hyper-competitive edge, her desire, even need, to win. As a result, they were evenly matched. The poor ball never stood a chance, as the impromptu, makeshift tournament more and more took on the trappings of a Klingon mating ritual. For all this, though, even Martok might have found things a trifle intense.

Neither one gave any ground. Taylor was pleased to find any activity that could engage her for that long, during the genetic brew's long incubation period. Bashir, on the other hand, was simply in love. Blurs to any who might look, the two Doctors simultaneously caught the ball with the edge of their rackets, smashing it into the wall beyond at unclockable speeds. The ball hit the wall, taking a chunk out of it, while being cleaved in two itself. Sweaty, the Doctors threw their rackets aside. Bashir threw Dorrie Taylor's head back, and kissed her. She then looked up at him.

"Doctor Bashir, my car has a large, wide, comfortable back seat."

"Doctor Taylor, it had better. We may find that we have need of it."

"Oh, we will...Wanna Play Doctor, Doctor?"

By the time all was done, Bashir had finally found a woman who could keep up with him---and Dorrie Taylor needed a new rear windshield--the old one looked like it had been kicked out, quite suddenly.

For all this, though, Taylor further sedated the sleeping Bashir, and put him in her psych ward, where a horrified Keiko had to pretend to notice neither him nor Colonel Potter. There were lots of Immunita bases throughout the world, and Taylor mistook Bashir for an intra - company spy. Also, she was intrigued as to why his enhancements were of a more balanced nature than her own. Plus, he offered a hell of a way to pass a few hours. When Bashir was secured, and Taylor had left, Keiko looked over at her friend.

"Great job, Julian. So much for the cavalry riding in."

To Keiko's shock, Bashir's eyes suddenly opened and he spoke to her.

"Oh, Keiko. Do have some faith. I recognized Doctor Taylor's name from history class, and wanted to see what she was up to. It would seem--she's up to you."

"I forgot. You can shake most sedatives off. But we've got to help Max."

"Max Klinger? Don't worry. Kira believes that, as soon as we have you, Soon-Lee will return to her proper time and place, as well."

"That's not what I meant. She accelerated him, Julian. Max is suffering from personality detachment, and Taylor intends for me-or Soon-Lee-to go the same route."

With that, Julian angrily undid his bonds and got up.

"Do you mean to tell me that she has been genetically enhancing people against their will - in 1957? I--never knew Immunita had that kind of material, that early on. It explains quite a bit about the twin conspiracies in any event. Blast. Now we have to stay till we know."

"What about the Temporal Prime Directive?"

"Keiko, there are addendums to the TPD. #5 states that, in a time-anomaly or like situation, if information regarding the Eugenics Wars should readily present itself, it is to be pursued with all vigor. You see the people who provided the materials that enhanced me -not to mention my misfit friends- were less scientists and more cultists, adherents of Khan Singh's beliefs. They may one day yet pose a greater threat than any external one might. But we must find out all we can. If it won't violate the TPD, I'll try and help Klinger. And given what I know of his fashion sense, he needs help."

"You're merely jealous, Julian. Some men just don't look good in a dress."

Smiling, Bashir undid Keiko's bonds, so she could gather her leg strength, for later. He would then meet up with their spy inside the hospital.

"Who's in there?"

Looking through various files, the spy was on the verge of being caught. The person who appeared to be Sherman Potter would not be fooled by a quick disappearance. He then barged in. The spy turned his back to him.

"It's just me, Colonel."

"Oh, Father. Don't work too late, now."

"I won't."

General Steele, who was impersonating Colonel Potter at the behest of Dorrie Taylor, was afraid of being found out by Potter's friends. He had gone insane, after his Cigarette-loving son had forced him out of the Consortium. Taylor and Immunita had raised him up, but treated him like a puppet. Then, they had found him. Refugees from another time, another place, he took them in, and, in secret, they gave him the power to make everybody pay. Struggling with their dialect, he called them the Power Wraiths. By any name, they were the deadliest enemies of the Prophets Of Bajor, and they had a plan to hit those beings where they lived. They had made him one other promise - never to leave him behind.

But the phony Potter didn't know that he had been talking to a phony Mulcahy. Constable Odo quickly lost that shape and went back into the air vents, attempting to ascertain why Nerys's Prophets might've brought him along for the ride. He found himself absently wishing Vic was there. The holographic host had a way of figuring things like this out.

Meanwhile, Kira and Captain Sisko approached the Potter household, and knocked on the door. Mildred Potter answered. There was something in her face that comforted them both - especially Benjamin.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Mrs. Potter, I am Captain Benjamin Sisko. I met your husband in Korea, and just wanted to say hello, while I was in town."

Mildred, who had decided against seeing Max Klinger, took in the name, and then said the last thing either Bajoran or Terran expected.

"Father Mulcahy. The Sisko Is Here."

_**SPACE STATION DEEP SPACE NINE**_

"What do you mean, they don't believe us? Didn't you tell them that this whole Tuttle deal was a big joke? The man doesn't exist."

Worf stared at Hawkeye Pierce. He had no answer as to why the Dominion would not accept the evidence he had transmitted to them, that the 'great hero', Captain Jonathan Tuttle, was a great fraud.

"It was your irresponsibility that caused this, Pierce. Do not complain that it got out of hand. You do not have the right. We teeter on the edge of bloody war, which will cost the lives of soldiers AND healers both. All for a needless prank."

Pierce drew in his breath, and spoke.

"Then let me take responsibility. Tell them I'm Tuttle, and send me over. They'll kill me, and be done with it."

Pierce's friends were too stunned to speak. Worf however was not.

"You are a brave man, Doctor. But I dare not send any of you over, especially you. You see, in the year 2003, Hawkeye Pierce will save the entire world."

To which Winchester immediately replied: "Don't let it go to your head, Pierce. It's only one world."

-------------------

_**July 25 , 2003**_

The Superior Man viewed his own image in the mirror. His own perfect image. He would not fail; he could not fail, now. The fate of mankind's advancement and strengthening rested solely with him. This powerful speech would undo all the setbacks and solidify all the gains. Khan Noonien Singh prepared to face the cameras.

Once content to manipulate from behind the scenes, Khan and his followers moved forward to bloody conquest. His people held the Balkans. They held Northern Africa, down to Rwanda. Virtually all militia or apocalyptic groups worldwide were lead by men and women who worshipped him and his genetically engineered fellows as the new humanity. Once Khan's rule was firm, of course, these lessers would be the first to die. It was, after all, natural law. The way of things. They would understand. If they did not-well, then, that didn't matter.

Boldly, Khan had his forces spread thin. Any real push by the governments of the world could bring them low, quite easily. But now, he would show that they had no spine to do so. His weakness of position would be their undoing, when he put them in an untenable position.

The speech was one that any true leader would know as their own. Worldwide, cameras carried it on every media source. It was a classic, about sheep, and wolves, choices and order - order brought about by one man's will. The speech was itself unremarkable, but the speaker was quite extraordinary. Those who weren't carried away by his speech---had help waiting in the wings.

Whole towns around the world had been seized by Khan's forces. Theirs was enforced applause, only necessary for about an hour. In places he did not hold outright, agents provocateur shouted down opposition to the interactive speech. Some dissidents were more than shouted down. But some people cannot be bribed, controlled, threatened, or beaten. Some will speak up and continue speaking up until evil is destroyed, no matter what the cost. One such man would speak up, and in so doing, turn back night on Earth.

"So, the choice is between the Four Horsemen, and their weak-kneed allies in government, or the world I now offer you. A hell of nightmares or a land where dreams may come true for those who dare, a veritable fantasy made real."

"Shut the hell up, you pea-brained moron. God, Burns didn't go on as long as you. Winchester, maybe, but even he had more interesting insults than you have ideas."

It was the first time anyone had actually dared to interrupt Khan. The cantankerous older-seeming man was, unknown to Khan, a product of the same experiments that had birthed his band. Unaware of this, the plants in the crowd spoke up.

"Shut up, old man."

"Yeah. Khan has the right to speak."

"Let him be heard."

The crowd seemed to murmur in Khan's direction, but the man's wife - also a product of unwanted metabolic enhancement and not as old as she seemed - could have told the young toughs that trying to get him to shut up was all but pointless.

"He's all we've been hearing. Ever since we climbed out of the trees, it's been 'Let the leader take care of it'. Not good enough? Stronger leaders. Things go wrong? Appoint a dictator. Can't find one? Make one out of a test tube."

Khan was livid at being interrupted, but did not allow it to show. One of his followers came at the man with a gun. It was extreme, but this speech was all-or-nothing. Khan would proclaim revolution, and there would be one world government, under him.

"I thought I told you to shut up, Old mannnnn.....aaaarggh. Stop it"

The older man was pummeling the young punk with his cane. Since the cane was an affectation for public consumption, he didn't need it to walk. The punk might, though. The man took his gun away, and held it up. Khan tried to recover.

"My friend, will you not allow me a chance to speak? I have rights too, you know, and the people wish to hear my words..."

"Stuff it, Hitler-esque. I'm not buying. See this pea-shooter, folks? THIS is what he's all about. Our little pal, here, has Khan artist's tattoo. So do his friends, I'll bet."

"Are you saying that my followers don't have rights, because, if you are, then we have nothing to talk about, no common ground. Is this the stance you wish to take?"

"Dorian Taylor."

Khan fell silent. He knew that name well.

"Doctor Taylor was a great mind, responsible for many genetic breakthroughs. If such as I had a mother, she would be it."

"She was a pretty monster who helped create other pretty monsters so they can give pretty speeches to make the world a whole lot uglier."

"I have not seen fit to insult you, mister...."

"Pierce. Doctor Benjamin Franklin Pierce. This is my wife, Margaret Houlihan Pierce. Us and the folks at Immunita are old pals...so to speak."

Khan was silent again. It was study of the Pierces that had given Immunita knowledge enough to create him. Shaken, Khan started to rant. It was from Pierce that his strength derived. Against Pierce and his wife, Khan Singh was not the Superior Man.

"Kill those two. KILL THE PIERCES. KILL THEM. DO YOU HEAR ME.? DO YOU STUPID, BLEATING SHEEP HEAR YOUR ONE TRUE LEADER?"

Hawkeye and Margaret then began to chant.

"We want something else. We want Something Else. We Want Something Else. WE WANT SOMETHING ELSE. WE WANT SOMETHING ELSE."

The chant took over the crowd, and the crowd took over the world. The new masters of genocide were rounded up and imprisoned. Their armies fell without a shot fired. FBI Director Mulder personally arrested Khan himself. A new NASA experimental shuttle was refitted as a cryo-prison, and a UN war crimes tribunal threw the launch switch on the so-called "Botany Bay". Still alive, Khan could not even become a martyr to his failed cause.

With the support and backing of his beloved wife, Hawkeye Pierce had saved the world from evil. Since the results of those first Eugenics experiments kept their aging at an extremely slow rate, the Pierces disappeared to begin a new life under another name. But Hawkeye Pierce would be remembered.

_**SPACE STATION DEEP SPACE NINE**_

Worf shut off the holo-viewer. Pierce and his friends stood like deer in the headlights. Trapper spoke first.

"Figures, Hawk. Not only do you play do-gooder for the whole wide world, but you still get the last word, five centuries later. Alright, that's it. You two are getting those blood tests. They got the facilities here, and no one will know. Cause that gray hair on you in that tape was as phony as a three-dollar bill."

Winchester agreed.

"Indeed, your would-be vivisectors at Immunita are long dead, after all. I should like to see those test results, though. I have an queasy feeling about all this. And, Pierce, I still say, it was only one world."

Margaret shot back.

"Charles, you touched your nose."

Soon-Lee Klinger looked terrified.

"Doctor Taylor is an evil woman? Oh, no. But I thought genetic acceleration was a good thing. It worked so well for Hawkeye and Margaret. My poor Max is a Guinea hamster."

A stunned Pierce was still silent. Jadzia Dax Rozehnko was not.

"Genetic Acceleration? You know about Immunita? In 1957? Everyone, down to Sickbay. We need to establish a few things, before we figure out this Dominion mess. Worf, darling, please stay."

When the time-travelers had left, Jadzia let loose on Worf.

"Are you crazy? What about the Temporal Prime Directive? You told them about their future, Worf."

"I felt they deserved to know, especially Pierce. Besides, they will forget this upon returning to their own time. The drugs will be given to erase their engrams, and..."

"WORF. Those drugs have to be administered carefully, for one. For two, we didn't bring them here. The Orb did. And it could send them back at any time, without warning. The Prophets won't tell us first."

Worf sat there as an angry Jadzia left.

"I was --- not aware of this."

* * *

At the edge of Cardassian space, an overlarge Dominion fleet awaited orders to attack Bajor. But Bajor was not their real objective. Many months before, the Vorta, who were the planners for the Dominion's assault on the Alpha Quadrant, had come to a realization. In all Dominion-Federation confrontations, there had been a single, unifying x-factor. An unknown quantity that bound all these disparate events together. Their forecasts and speculations had said such, so it simply had to be the correct take. No possibility of error, of course.

So it was that when Dominion spies hacked an unused, declassified Starfleet personnel database, they found a nugget of pure knowledge. The identity of the unknown force. The name to their pain. The Vorta had obtained for their shape shifting masters the secret of the Federation's awesome success against them. One awesome man--and his awesome ship. Together, they were---you know.

A huge fleet was called up. The Federation's hero now stood exposed. Not Sisko. Not Picard. Not even Kirk, rumored to have returned from the dead after a century. No, this man was not a glory - hound. He was a winner of victories, a supporter of others' victories. This and a dozen other factors made Jonathan S. Tuttle, the new Commander Of The U.S.S. Defiant, a target worth risking early war.

Weyoun studied more of the Tuttle files obtained at the cost of the lives of people Weyoun didn't really care much about. They, at least, had not died in vain, or been fed misinformation. No subject of the Dominion was that stupid. Except, perhaps, the Gul whose incessant pacing was as boring as the rest of his personality. His troops called him 'Ferret-Face' or 'Gul Kanar'. But Gul Damar was, technically, viceroy of Cardassia. Very technically.

"I don't like it Weyoun. There's something about this Tuttle situation that strikes me as wrong. There is definitely something strange about Captain Tuttle. I just get a bad feeling about him."

"I'll tell you what, Damar. I'll look and see if Tuttle has shot any children in the back. Combine that with his listed bladder-control problem, and that'll make two things you have in common."

Weyoun was quite passionless, but still drew muted pleasure from the look of reptilian fury on Damar's face. Again he silently praised the Founders for giving him someone so easy to play with. Dukat had never been like this. His insanity had always made him much more interesting, though. Damar leaned forward and put his angry face up in the Vorta's.

"Accidents do happen, telepath. But I was referring to little things about this man's record. Species: 'Daxamite'. What is a Daxamite? What are their characteristics? I've never heard of them before. An unknown like that makes me queasy."

"The unknown makes you queasy? Well then, Damar, I...oh, never mind. We also have his characteristics, and the Daxamite is as follows: They are faster than most phaser discharges, stronger than a Runabout's engine, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Hmm. Most impressive. He should put the Jem'Hadar through their paces."

"Let me see that. Tuttle can, apparently, terraform rivers with ease, bend duranium in his bare hands, and---this is odd---often disguises himself as a member of his own crew, to best learn where things need to be changed. Cunning, I'll give him that. His psych-profile goes further and says that he feels personally engaged in a never-ending battle for Truth, Justice, and the Federation Way."

Weyoun looked shocked.

"He sounds like some kind of fanatic. Just what IS the Federation Way?"

Damar shrugged.

"Make your comments, Weyoun, but I really don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. But now, a new wrinkle."

Weyoun nodded.

"Commander Worf's denial. His claim that Tuttle is naught but a practical joke of some kind, gone out of control."

"It jives with our findings, that the Tuttle evidence was all planted within the last week, and rather clumsily, at that."

"I agree, Damar. Logically, we should just pull away and reposition these vital forces to strategic areas. Don't you think so?"

"Your sarcasm gives you away, Weyoun. After that manufactured evidence that brought the Romulans in against us, they are trying to draw us away from the Truth, when the Truth Is Plainly Out There."

"I---don't buy into your theory of a grand conspiracy, Damar. It is not all the Federation we are up against, but one insanely clever, impossibly powerful man."

"Now I see your point, Weyoun. Yes, the clumsily planted evidence in an obscure corner of Starfleet's massive databases, an honor-bound Klingon telling us the man doesn't exist, our having no prior evidence of him can mean only one thing----"

Weyoun and Damar rarely agreed on anything. But now, they spoke as one.

"All this is exactly what Tuttle wishes us to think. Very clever. But futile. I saw right through it."

The two Dominion leaders realized just how congruent their speech had been. They looked at one another.

"Weyoun?"

"Yes, Damar?"

"Let's NEVER do that again."

"I agree. Never. It was most disconcerting."

So, as the Federation's clock clicked down, Damar and Weyoun tried to figure out how best to claim all the credit for this coming victory. Little did they realize, the man hadn't been born that could defeat Jonathan Tuttle. But then, neither had Tuttle. Back on Deep Space Nine, Tuttle's inventors were having their heads-and everything else - examined.

Margaret Houlihan walked over to the area where Jadzia Dax was finishing up the medical tests and analysis of the five time travelers.

"Anything yet, Jadzia?"

"Huh? Oh. Oh, no Margaret. Julian showed me how to use this equipment, but I don't have his practiced speed. Are you nervous?"

"I can honestly say, the last time I was this nervous, we had to operate on Radar's rabbit to help me find out if I was pregnant. But it's not just that. I mean, I want these tests to tell us we'll be all right, but I don't know if I should want to live too much longer."

"Huh? Major---God, it's weird calling someone else that--why would you not want to live?"

"The future. I mean, I sat there like a lump while Hawkeye took down that Khan character. I don't cotton much to the idea of nice little wifey, baking cookies for the conquering hero. I might want to be that conquering hero. I--do want to be that conquering hero. I want to take the risks, too. Is that so much to ask?"

"Oh, it's only nothing---and everything. Worf is the other half of my Klingon heart, but he's a typical male. He forgot to tell you that, as legend tells us, Hawkeye Pierce was not even going to attend that rally. But someone told him to put up or shut up, concerning the Eugenics Wars. She told him to put his money where his mouth was---or sleep on the couch. We're told he did not sleep on the couch."

Margaret smiled. She felt much better.

"Our two big mouths saved the world. Oh, I hope Henry Blake could see us, up in Heaven. He'd bust a wing laughing. Course', he'd probably do that anyway."

Jadzia laughed with Margaret. They would need this laugh, for the tests were done. Their results were nothing short of incredible.

Elsewhere, the legend continued.

_**SOVEREIGN CLASS CRUISER,  
USS ENTERPRISE NCC 1701-E**_

Personal Log, Captain Jean-Luc Picard recording: The Dominion has massed very near to Deep Space Nine, with no response from Captain Sisko as yet. The Dominion forces wish the surrender of one Captain Jonathan S. Tuttle. Well, I can tell them that they are all fools and dupes. Utter morons, deluding themselves with a comforting lie. I can say this because I know the truth about Jonathan Tuttle. In all our years at the Academy together, he never once gave up. My friend Johnny doesn't know the meaning of the word. So far, though, no response from my messages to Mister Worf. A tense situation indeed. But with luck on his side, my old Security Chief will see first-hand what Tuttle is made of. I am hardly the only one aboard the ship who wishes him well. Apparently, he was Data's instructor at the Academy, a family friend of the Trois, and, I suspect, Beverly's former lover, though I fear he broke her heart. She won't speak on the matter. Johnny was always a ladies' man. I wish my old friend well.  
End log.

_**DELTA QUADRANT, USS VOYAGER**_

"We've just received this message via the relay, Commander."

Finally, Voyager had a link to the Alpha Quadrant, and some limited firsthand news. It would not last long.

"What is it, Chakotay?"

"It's Tuttle. They must have released him and the other Maquis from prison. Seems he's a big hero now, complete with a Dominion bounty on his head. Good Ole' Johnny."

Happy as the proverbial clam, Chakotay left the Bridge to tell Be'lanna Torres about the former Maquis made good.

Tom Paris thought to himself.

*Chakotay's crazy. I served under the guy for a year, and he had no Maquis tendencies. He was stern--but fair.*

Harry Kim thought to himself as well. 

"So that's where old 'Hard-Case' Tuttle wound up. Oh, who am I kidding? If not for Tuttle, I would have washed out of my first year. I owe the man everything."

Seven Of Nine thought to herself, 

*I must believe these scholars to be wrong on their face. The power of suggestion is not as great as some might think. Humans have, at least, evolved past complete gullibility. I will, therefore, ignore teachings about the unproven 'power of suggestion'.*

Barely audible, Captain Kathryn Janeway in her chair simply muttered.

"Johnny..."

_**STARFLEET ACADEMY**_

"Damn that Nog. He says that Captain Sisko has agreed to appear at our commencement, but it's a no-go on Tuttle."

"I'll bet he doesn't even know Tuttle."

"Can anyone reaaallly know a man like Jonathan Tuttle?"

_**DEEP SPACE NINE**_

"Just try it, Morn. It's Tuttle's favorite drink."

That day, Quark got rid of all 17 cases of Ghidoran lightning-juice, from Ogas Swra. The next day, Cardassian Kanar became Tuttle's favorite. Tuttle, it seems, was quite flexible.

In the sickbay, the tests were back. Doctors Winchester and McIntyre tested normal. The other three, though, had some interesting things to find out.

"Okay, guys, here goes. Worf, you better sit down, too. Soon-Lee, you have reaction speeds, strength, stamina, endurance, resilience and immune response over 5 times the human average---for this time period. For your own time, it's more like 10. My guess is, what this Doctor Taylor did to Max affected you through birthing your daughter, Maxine. They may have up to 20 times normal stats. You are also aging 25 to 50 % slower than an average human. Max and Maxine are likely about the same, since the math is a little different on human aging."

Soon-Lee looked worried.

"Jadzia, are you sure this is not just from eating right? I eat lots of vegetables...This is not from vegetables."

Trapper shot off,

"If it is, get me some spinach."

Winchester.

"Pierce, don't even think about a Popeye comment, or I will destroy you."

Jadzia shook her head.

"Sorry, Charles. But you'd have an easier time taking out a Jem'Hadar. Watch."

Turning, Jadzia picked up two antique scalpels and threw them, at top speed, at Hawkeye and Margaret. Effortlessly, they caught them, handles first.

"Margaret, if you would, punch my husband in the stomach."

Worf stood ready for the blow. In a moment, he was sitting, nursing his ribs.

"By Kahless. How?"

"Sorry, Worf. I got carried away."

"That is all right, Major. My first wife once belted me like that....as will my second, for bringing her up, no doubt."

Hawkeye was still digesting the incredible news about his future, but spoke up, nevertheless.

"Uh, Dax? What does all this add up to? Are Margaret and I still…Human?"

"Yeah. Buuuuttt...you've both been bumped so far up the ladder of Human evolution ...incalculable speed, unbelievable strength, and aging that seems to go on a day for every year. Guys...we're talking cellular godhood here. You have brain potential that makes Julian's little friends seem challenged."

Hawkeye stood up.

"There's something I have to do."

He walked up to Margaret, and kissed her, full on the lips. He then got down on one knee.

"Margaret, honey, we know now. We know what the slime at the 3966th did to us. If I have to be alive, forever, I want it to be with you. I asked this in Tokyo, in December of 54', but not very well. So let me ask it now."

Worf tapped Hawkeye on the shoulder.

"Yes, Worf?"

"Hawkeye, you were in Tokyo, in December of 1954? You saw...the creature?"

Worf was asking like an excited little boy. His wife's elbow brought him back.

"Please ask me, Hawkeye. Ignore the Klinger-er, Klingon, sorry, Worf."

Margaret's words were the last for thirty seconds. History was in the making, at long last, and the long dance between two people was reaching a high point.

"God, why isn't this easier? Here goes. Margaret Houlihan, Will You Marry Me?"

Margaret stood up.

"Everyone to Vic's, on the double."

Displaying unbelievable speed, Margaret was in the holosuite and had Vic's program up in moments. Hawkeye was there soon after, while the others took time. Soon-Lee was the first of them. Margaret shouted to Vic.

"Vic. Dusty 2. He finally did it."

"Hey, congrats, kids. Ok, everybody here? Then, without further ado, Miss Dusty Springfield."

Hawkeye was confused, as a hologram of a singer whose career lay ten years ahead of his time came onto stage. Vic's programmer allowed certain singers to 'invade' his early 1960's environment. Margaret was all smiles. Dusty spoke.

"Hawkeye, since I've been activated, that means you wised up and proposed. About bloody time, too. Now, pally-boy, here's your answer."

Margaret stared deep into Hawkeye's eyes. The song began. It was a lively and joyous tune.

"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so; I only know I never want to let you go; Cause you've started something; Oh can't you see; That ever since we met you've had a hold on me; No matter what you do; I Only Wanna Be With You; You stopped and smiled at me; And Asked me if I Care to Dance; I fell into your open arms; And I didn't stand a chance; Now hear me honey; I just wanna be beside you everywhere; As long as we're together honey I don't care; Cause look what has happened; With Just One Kiss; I never knew that I could be in love like this; It's Crazy But It's True; I Only Wanna Be With You."

Margaret smiled. Hawkeye had gotten the message, and Vic had agreed not to play the Samantha Fox version of that song. Decent voice, but the girl seemed to have a problem with keeping her clothes on, Margaret felt.

When the song was done, Margaret spoke one more time.

"Hawkeye Pierce, Yes, I Will Marry You."

Now officially an engaged man, Hawkeye stood up. He was reenergized.

"This sweet woman has just agreed to marry a bum like me. To celebrate, lets figure out a way to turn back that Dominion fleet. Margaret? Guys?"

"If anyone can, it's us, darling. We are the 4077th's 24th Century Auxiliary."

"Coount me in. I've been mopin over my wife, my life, not getting enough attention. Let's give those bums what for. We'll make em' regret the day they heard the name Jonathan Tuttle."

"Oh, what the hell. Boston Aristocracy versus the slime of the Universe? No contest. A Winchester is A Winchester, no matter the time or place."

"I am Mrs. Max Klinger. I must uphold the family honor, particularly if there's a scam involved."

As the 4077th alumni marched off, Worf looked at Jadzia.

"Kahless help me, but I almost believe they can do it, Jadzia."

"Oh, I believe they can do it. What I can't believe is that you interrupted Hawkeye's proposal to ask about Gojira."

Once again, Worf was soon alone.

"I like Gojira."

_**--------------**_

_**RIVER BEND, MISSOURI, MAY, 1957**_

Everyone was always happy to see Colonel Sherman T. Potter, and he always had a smile for everyone he knew and everyone he met. But this day, his smile seemed forced-even phony. The Colonel was not his usual self. He wasn't even Sherman Potter.

He was General Bartford Hamilton Steele - the Third. There was no common blood between himself and Sherman Potter; Their identical looks were an accident of fate. His family had run the OSS in the PTO during World War Two. Joining together with other well-connected military families, they had formed shadow cells within the newly-formed CIA.

Known as the Syndicate, or The Consortium, their first job was to wipe out all traces of the Ferengi visitation at Roswell. This, meant, of course, wiping out people as well. The exhaustive effort prepared the Consortium well for other visitations-and other erasures. By 1950, they were damned good at it. Several dying alien races would act through them to make a go at colonizing the Earth in secret. The dirty deals in exchange for power were made.

Then the unbelievable occurred. While interrogating a Japanese POW Camp Commander, Steele found out about and obtained through outright extortion of Henry Blake the remains of a meteor strike in Korea, and the deadly gas the rocks gave off. Most died, but those few who lived simply didn't get sick anymore. In fact, they seemed healthier than ever. These few, the Commander would have shot repeatedly in front of his far gentler son, Toshiro, and the CO's half-Korean daughter, Toshiko.

In years to come, Toshiko would try to hide her shame over this by building a bar right over the slaughter spot. Her bar, right across the way from the 4077th MASH, was run by her under a Western name she adopted - Rosie.

Toshiro Hiron's grandson, Yoshiro Ishikawa, would one day marry Max and Soon-Lee Klinger's daughter, Maxine. Maxine and Yoshi's descendants included one Keiko O'Brien, Teacher, Botanist, and loving wife to Miles O'Brien, descendant of Katherine Mulcahy O'Brien, a former Nun who gave up the habit to have a family of her own. This was a decision opposed by much of her family, including John Patrick Francis Mulcahy, a Catholic Priest and Company Chaplain to the MASH 4077th. Steele might well envy these people, because his own family life was not so pleasant.

Events had conspired to rob him of his sanity. The best son of a demanding military family, he never met with approval from his parents. So it was, in 1919, when a simple phone call would have saved them from the effects of the Influenza ravaging the US, Bartford found it far simpler not to make any calls.

When a doctor would have saved his shrewish wife during childbirth, he simply did it himself, saving his son's life at her expense. But his son had grown up ungrateful. After Steele caught a whiff from his own purloined rocks, his brain was damaged. Now he really was the "Flipping General". His son, Bart the Fourth, promptly moved to take his place in the Consortium.

"Son, please, don't."

"I'm leaving you behind and scraping you off, Old Man. You kept Henry Blake around, figuring you had him cowed. But now Pierce and Houlihan have been snooping at Immunita's HQ. I had to kill Blake myself. If that little extra something in his duffle bag hadn't taken his plane down, he'd have turned us in. Dad, you almost blew things --- again. Dorian, be a love and please do something with this---sack."

"It's Doctor Taylor to you, boy. By the way, when do we get Pierce and Houlihan? They were the only survivors of our test run, with those flu shots. The autopsy crew wants a look, soon."

As Steele was being dragged off, he saw his son, holding a cigarette, as if he were born with it in his hand. His voice was as cold as ice, barely past 18, and not looking even that old.

"You didn't think I was a boy last night, Dorrie. Now, cut the crap, and forget about Pierce and Houlihan. We want those two producing gods, before too long. Our 'people upstairs' will want slaves worth having, and I want our part of the Consortium in at Ground Zero. Translation- Pierce and Houlihan live for now."

"What purpose does that serve? Those two are the key to producing a true better humanity. Soon, we believe we can produce a true leader for this world, a Tsar, an Emperor, a..."

"You forget who's in charge, here, Dorian. Little Genghis or Kublai is gonna have to wait. Now, a reminder of your position. Doctor Taylor. Your uniform and undergarments are infected---leave them here, then walk back and wait in my quarters."

No one frightened Dorian Taylor. She was any man's equal, most men's superior. There was simply no way she was giving this little creep what he wanted, she told herself. She saw him leering at her, lustfully. She then looked at the floor and honestly wondered how her uniform and undergarments had gotten there. She still wondered this as she took her humiliating walk back to his quarters.

Two people who had been repeatedly betrayed by the young nicotine freak met in Sherman Potter's office. Steele's resemblance to Potter had given Taylor complete control over Pershing General. It would become Immunita's new base, in a place of patriotism and few questions. The perfect place to check on the unwitting Korean War vets who were their test subjects. For all this, both still wanted revenge.

"Good afternoon, General."

"What're you doing in my office, Taylor? I run this hospital. You said that with Potter asleep..."

"Does the word figurehead have any meaning for that virus-addled brain of yours, Steele? That you look like Potter, and can give me effective control over Pershing General sums up your only use to me. Your son scared me, General. You don't. You are a shell, an old nothing that I could push aside at any time. By the way, did you send for that Doctor Bashir? I have him in custody, along with Edward, Potter, and our delusional Mrs. Klinger. I don't need other Immunita bases moving in, now. Especially ones that can produce accelerated Humans without side-effect."

At that name, Steele's head cocked.

"Bashir. Ally to the Emissary, the Sisko."

"What did you just say, Steele? I do hope you've been taking your medicine, because I need you to be coherent a while longer. Babbling won't do."

"Well, then, listen up, Doctor Taylor. Let's you and I talk about the way the universe was made, way back when. Let's us talk about The Prophets Of Bajor..."

Taylor gasped as Steele's eyes turned red and crackled with energy.

".....And about my new nearest and dearest, The Pagh Wraiths. The Pagh Wraiths, you see, don't much like the way Creation is set up, and damned if I don't agree with em'. See, they'd been beaten by trickery, like me, so we found one another."

Taylor grasped at her clothes, while realizing that the senior Steele didn't want to take them from her -- he wanted her power. She could deal with public humiliation. But the son's father wanted the only thing she had that she really cared about -- her illusion of power over others.

Back at the Potter household, Benjamin Sisko awaited two things: the arrival of Miles O'Brien and Max Klinger, and Father Francis Mulcahy's explanation of how he and Mildred Potter knew who he and Kira were. He was upset that the Chief told Max about who they were, but the presence of Immunita made it necessary. As they saw with Doctor Bashir, the effects of the Eugenics Wars were long-reaching and worth investigating, even at the risk of The Temporal Prime Directive. Major Kira looked worried.

"Major? What's wrong?"

"They're here, Captain. I can feel them."

"Who? Oh...my God. Nerys...them?"

"I fought them on behalf of the Prophets, Captain. They're here."

"The Pagh Wraiths. Damn. I felt something, too. A twinge from those visions that were planted in my brain, that still remains -shrouded by silence. I think the battle that Kai Winn delayed on the station won't wait any longer…What The Hell?! "

Kira wondered why her Captain shouted. Mildred and the Padre ran out, wondering the same. He was staring at a magazine. Kira stared in wonder, too.

"Captain, what's wrong? I said I would explain my knowledge as soon as Max...Oh, My."

"Oh, that's just a silly science fiction pulp that Sherman buys for our grandson. That cover story is good, but the ending is a bit of a letdown. The 'Captain' turns out to be only the dream of a convict."

Francis, Benjamin, and Nerys all stared in wonder at the magazine's cover. It stated:

Inside: A New Benjamin Russell Story---Science Fiction At Its Greatest –'The Wormhole At Deep Space Nine.'

Something more than the O'Briens' and the Klingers' intimacy was being put at stake. Sisko had always believed that Benny Russell had no more substance than Jonathan Tuttle. The Prophets were on the move. But so were the Pagh Wraiths.

Back at Pershing General, Julian Bashir had a depressingly real-world task at hand.

"Eddie. Where's Eddie? HELP ME FIND EDDIE. OHHHH… I Promised to take care of him."

Keiko O'Brien, now back in real clothes, was reviving Colonel Potter. By authority of Temporal Prime Directive Addendum 5, the Colonel, being the Chief Authority there, was informed of the incredible truth. Julian, unlike Miles, did use his phaser as proof -- by giving the Colonel a shave.

"Much obliged, Julian. Guess the future is lookin' pretty darn..."

Then Edward, another test subject of Doctor Taylor's began to scream. The guards ignored this regular occurrence which had nearly driven Keiko out of her skull with a mixture of sympathy and disgust. Bashir began to try to help him---but wondered if he could.

"Colonel? Who is this young man?"

"GOD. HELP EDDDDiiieeeeeee."

"His name's Edward, Doctor Bashir. It was Eddie, back when he was...slow. I met him in Korea, and decided to ask Dorrie to help him. But I didn't know he was this bad off."

Julian had relatively few easy buttons to push. The Colonel, though, had spoken directly to his secret shame--a young boy named Jules.

"You hypocrite. How DARE you play God over this lad's well-being. I'll bet his parents signed him away without any trouble, right? All on your say-so. I hope you are happy, Potter. This patient is suffering from the most severe case of personality detachment I've ever seen. You're merely lucky I happen to be the best surgeon of my time. That MIGHT be enough to help him."

Potter felt two inches tall. He hadn't known about Eddie's problems, or about Taylor's agenda. While Julian tried a number of methods to calm the young man, Sherman spoke to the woman he once thought was Soon-Lee.

"Keiko? Will you forgive a gullible old fool?"

"Of course, Colonel. Taylor had everyone fooled."

"Not Mildred. She told me not to trust her. Now I can't even tell the woman how she was right, cause it might destroy the future. Can I ask you about Bashir?"

"Sure."

"He's Winchester's kin, isn't he?"

"How--how did you know?"

"Distinguishing family characteristic. The Winchester Ego."

Julian walked over to the other two. Eddie had stopped screaming.

"He's gone, Colonel."

Potter's face was the face of one lost.

"Why...What..How?"

Realizing the Colonel could not have known the severity of Eddie's condition, Bashir regretted his earlier words.

"I'm sorry. The detachment was too far gone. Eddie was dying...and Edward decided he didn't want to live without Eddie. The same thing happened to me and Jules. But they administered drugs to kill the Jules persona, and warned me never to tell my parents of it."

"What in the hell did I buy into? This is like that Immunita Project at the 3966th back in...Oh, My God. You're tellin' me it is them. Well, fool me once...Soon as my and the lady's head is clear, WE'RE DAMNED WELL CLEANING HOUSE. For Eddie, for Jules, and for two young people I love like my own children, Hawkeye and Margaret. And for a good man I never met, who got in their way."

Keiko sat stunned. She knew enough about the 4077th to guess at who Potter meant.

"Colonel, you mean to say that Henry Blake's death was no accident? Max had indicated that, but I thought...Julian, what can we do? What the hell are we up against? Do we dare take it on?"

Bashir knew that Keiko was cognizant of what they faced. Her question was one meant to bring about focus. He offered some of his own.

"Keiko, we don't dare not take it on."

Potter nodded, feeling in a fighting mood.

"Amen to that...Jules."

Back at the Potter household, Max and Miles had arrived, with the Klinger kids in tow. Miles carried his wife's one-year-old ancestor, Maxine, who kept grabbing his nose. He held her out in front of him.

"Oh, You. Stop Grabbing My Nose."

Joyfully, the child just leaned forward and grabbed again.

"Having fun, Chief?"

"Sorry, Captain. Just some in-law trouble. Are yewwww my in-law? Yes, you are. Yes, you are…"

"Er, Mr. O'Brien, I'd like to put the children to bed. They've been irritable, since their mother left."

"Oh, sure thing, Mrs. Potter. Goo-Goodbye, my little grandma-in-law to the fifth power."

Everyone just kind of stared at Miles, but he didn't care. Father Mulcahy then spoke.

"Now that everyone's here, I can explain myself. The beings you call The Prophets but whom I believe to be Angels Of The Lord told me..."

Kira interrupted.

"Hold it right there, Father. Who do you think you are to reduce my gods to a subservient status to your God?"

"Major..."

"No, no Captain. She has a good point. But you see, my dear, it's quite simple. My God has said that I shall have or hold in my heart No Other God. Period. End of Commandment. For me, as godlike as your Prophets might seem, I know what they are not--what they must not be, to me. It's the same thing I told them after they showed me Bethlehem, and offered to show me the Resurrection. I must have that something unknown to believe in, else, where is faith? I am sorry if I offended you, but..."

Kira grasped Mulcahy's hand as if to kiss it. Tears were starting to form in her eyes.

"Father, how would you like to be Kai Mulcahy? I know I'd like you to be."

Absently, Sisko and O'Brien wished the same thing.

"I can't be Kai, child. I am The Priest."

Sisko's eyes went wide.

"The Priest. Oh, my…Major."

Kira was on her knees before Father Mulcahy.

"The Priest joins with the Emissary, and so is the blood-dimmed tide stemmed forever. The Priest...And The Potter. Oh, bless the Prophets. Evil is at last put paid to."

"Nerys, please. If I'm not Kai, I'm certainly not the Pontiff."

Just then, a commbadge beeped.

"Doctor? Is that you?"

"Yes, Captain, I have Keiko, and have freed Colonel Potter. An impostor has taken his place. Put there...by Dorian Taylor."

"Wonderful. If I recall correctly, she's the mother of the whole damned Eugenics War. All right, everyone down to the hospital. TPD or no, we are resolving this, as soon as possible."

"I'll stay with the kids".

"No, Mrs. Potter. You go to your husband. I'll stay."

"Major? But I thought you'd want..."

Kira shook her head.

"To see the final battle, Captain? No. I couldn't bear it. Kai Winn robbed me of that joy. Besides, I still feel somewhat responsible for all this. Let Mrs. Potter go where she's needed."

"Thank You, Major. But it's Mildred."

"Thank You, Mildred. But it's Nerys."

"Eh, coming, Father?"

"In a moment, Miles, I'll meet you all down there, presently. By the way, it seems the O'Briens taste in women remains consistently high, over time---nephew."

Miles smiled, and joined the cross-time group on its way to Pershing General. Mulcahy looked at Kira and the kids. She was telling them of the Evil Pirate Dukat and the Fair Princess Ziyal who married the old grump Garak, who loved her so much, he made her evil father go away and they lived happily ever after. When she was done, and the kids were asleep, she looked again at Father Mulcahy. She then understood, as he left, how this 'Bethlehem' must have touched his heart. Mulcahy uttered two words.

"Sleep, child."

And she did.

Down at Pershing General, the night staff had one and all been hand-picked by Doctor Taylor. But no one was about. Just, quite ominously, clothes and piles of ashes. Julian, Sherman, and Keiko didn't like the looks of it one bit. But they did like what was rounding the corridor. Keiko ran at speeds rivaling Warp.

"Miles."

"Keiko."

They collided with one another and slipped on the floor. But they didn't care. Their kiss was long, and deep. So much so, their friends wondered if they weren't going to have to get a hose.

"Oh, Miles. I am so happy..."

"You? How do you think I feel? I..."

Just then, a flash of light. Pierce, McIntyre, Houlihan and Winchester remained on Deep Space Nine. But Soon-Lee had returned. She and Max didn't even bother to say anything. Their hello kiss was also memorable.

"Where are Hawkeye and the others? Did they not also return?"

Sisko caught on immediately.

"Hawkeye Pierce is on my station? Oh, if I could get his signature next to Kirk's, I'd..."

Potter stared at Sisko.

"Great Hornytoads, Captain. Let's just get to my office, and beat the bad guys. Sheesh. Besides, I haven't seen Jim Kirk since he was CO at the 1701st."

"I understand that Colonel, but, Blast It, we have to ascertain the real threat, here. Blessed Prophets, we can't just go running off half-cocked."

Bashir intervened.

"Gentleman, if I might suggest..."

The two turned on Bashir, and spoke as one.

"Great Thunder, Man. Can't You see we're having a…""

Potter looked at Sisko. Then Sisko spoke.

"Colonel, there's going to be a Tracy-Hepburn film called 'Guess Who's Coming To Dinner' about 10 years from now. It will--explain what just happened."

"Ah, Thankee kindly, Captain. Always love a good Kate and Spencer comedy. I hear those two may be carryin' on though."

As Potter left with the others, Sisko shook his head, chuckled and said,

"Granpa Sisko said he was cantankerous, but who knew?"

Potter then turned and yelled back.

"Ya know, son, your old grandfather could use some help, here."

Sisko loved the old man's intuition almost as much as him. He stopped once more, though, and thought about something Potter had said off-handedly.

"1701st? Kirk? Could it be? Temporal Affairs is going to have tribbles when I tell them this one."

The halls of the hospital were filled with ashen corpses, some of Project Immunita's worst. In Potter's office, though---things were bad. Steele, now fully part of The Pagh Wraiths, stood amidst the carnage. Near him lay a shattered skeleton-Dorian Taylor's.

"Oh, howdy Sherm, all. I told Dorrie to 'Take It All Off', like she did for my son, but she wouldn't...so I did. Nope, nobody's telling Bartford Hamilton Steele what to do, anymore. These friendly red folk have given me sooooo much."

Steele rose into the air. The two reunited couples held each other.

"Soon-Lee, I love you honey."

"Max, without you, the future was a nightmare.- No offense, Miles."

"Don't fret, folks. It'll be over quick. You all have to die, of course..But first, the Sisko will give us....his SOUL."

Sisko felt the red glow envelop him, felt like he was being torn loose from his moorings. He was dying, and being consumed by the Pagh Wraiths. All in all, 1957 was proving a mixed year. Maybe the last year. Max cried out.

"We need a hero. Where's George Reeves when you really need him?"

Miles responded.

"I don't think even Superman could help us now, Max. Goodbye, Keiko, I…"

The outside wall of Potter's office burst open and the fragments struck Steele, freeing Sisko. A man floated in the hole's way, standing defiantly against evil-as he always had.

His eyes and body crackled with the blue-manifested energy of the Prophets Of Bajor. He didn't believe that they were gods, but his Faith was still like a mountain, unyielding in the face of hate. He was Father Francis Mulcahy, and he bid the Pagh Wraiths and their host to do battle with him, with a few simple words.

"Excuse Me, General. Would You Care To Step Outside?"

Steele sneered, and the red energies crackled.

"So! You found us. No matter. We shall undo all your works, here and now. You, Priest, shall not provide the Clay to The Potter. The Potter shall not forge a vessel from it for the Sisko."

Mulcahy rolled his eyes.

"That was a figure of speech, you ninny. It means that the Potter is the Sisko's ancestor. The only thing I provide is the odd service of taking out the trash. Now, come along quietly..."

"You mean to say that whole Clay, Clay, Clay thing was just...Blasted Prophets. Never say in three words whatcha can say in three thousand."

Suddenly, the lethal red glow that had enveloped Captain Benjamin Sisko now surrounded Mulcahy.

"Priest. Your Soul Is Mine."

Francis shook off the red glow almost casually. The feedback sent Steele flying.

"General. I Don't Think So."

Back and Forth, the battle raged. At Sisko's behest, all the others went in the opposite direction. Mildred Potter was most stunned of all.

"To think, I was going to visit Mt. Meggido in Israel next year. But if Mildred and Sherman can't get to Meggido..."

Doctor Julian Bashir completed her thought. He was still reeling from watching Eddie, a young man who could easily have been him, die from the side-effects of personality detachment.

"Then, Mrs. Potter, I fear Armageddon will come to us."

"Looks like it already has come, Julian."

Bashir and Potter looked at one another. Dorrie Taylor had paid for her crimes---horribly. But Potter had recommended Eddie to her. He was 'mentally retarded', before the genetic acceleration. The Colonel now realized he had as much as judged the brave young soldier unfit to live. That uninformed choice would stay with him all his remaining days. Bashir put his hand on the shoulder of his Captain's ancestor.

"I as much as ordered that boy's death."

"Sherman, you made a choice based on what you knew. A doctor can do no more. At this time, the prospects of a man like Eddie are limited by fear and loathing. You tried to correct that. May I say, further, you are currently displaying more remorse than my parents did for years."

Potter knew all this. But still his choice would stay with him. He heard Sisko ask a question.

"Colonel, who exactly is this Steele character?"

"Well...Ben, he's bad news. A man who used to wield a lot of power, fore' he lost his marbles, and his kid. Grim, obsessed, a man who likes to order other people's deaths, always scamming for advantage. Likes to act your friend, until things don't go his way. Heh. Pierce had told me there was a resemblance, but he's a dead ringer for me. Kind of like my evil twin, Lord help me. He was there the day the 4077th opened shop, giving it brand-new, uncertain CO a hard time. He likes to act big-crazy, so you don't think anything of him. Glad-hander, too. From what I hear, the only thing he likes to talk about are those few people he let live, stead of those who got hurt by what he did. Hey grandson, you don't got anybody like that in your neck of the woods, do ya?"

Sisko rolled his eyes.

"His name is Dukat, sir. Everything old..."

Max Klinger saw Keiko O'Brien, and asked to speak with her alone.

"Of course, Max. What can I do for you?"

"Keiko, please forgive your old lech of an ancestor. Grabbing your goodies at every turn, constantly turning in bed, tryin' to start something. I really didn't know---well, not completely, anyway. But will you be a good kid and forgive me? Not just for that, but for putting you away with Madame Frankenstein?"

Keiko surprised Max, Miles, Soon-Lee and herself by kissing Max full on the lips.

"Max, I love my husband. And you are my ancestor. But I have wanted to do that all week. Does that make me sick?"

Max wore a stunned smile.

"Well, Keiko, there are families, and then there are families. I'm just glad we have such an open family. Open to what, though, I have no idea."

Behind them, Soon-Lee and Miles were clearing their throats, their arms folded, each tapping one foot on the ground.

"Max?"

"Fair's fair, Keiko. Just one though, guys."

Soon-Lee and Miles then locked lips for a moment or two. Keiko took note of something.

"Uh, Soon-Lee? Please move your hands up---NOW."

Soon-Lee stopped, and smiled at her mirror/descendant. Keiko couldn't help but return the smile.

"Sorry, Keiko. But I squeezed little Molly's cheeks, and I just wanted to make sure and get Miles' cheeks, as well."

Keiko walked over, and reached over behind Miles, who then started.

"No need to be sorry, Grandma. But these are my toys."

Wisely, neither Miles nor Max said a damned word. Then, ancestor and descendant embraced.

"You are my hero, Soon-Lee Klinger. Surviving that awful war, dealing with people who hate you so casually. My strength comes from you."

"You are my hero, Keiko O'Brien. I could not live where you do, with so many wonders, and so many dangers. You have shown me true strength by raising such a wonderful family and having a husband with such a lovely...."

Max and Keiko both said, "Soon-Lee....."

"Wife. I was going to say wife."

Allowing this for now, Max and Keiko rejoined the others. Miles spoke to Soon-Lee briefly. In the distance, the battle between the Padre and the Crazy General raged. Something was building.

* * *

Back at the Potter household, Constable Odo arrived, having just missed everyone at Pershing General. Kira sat there, radiating peace.

"Nerys? What's happened? Where is everyone? I found out that Potter's been replaced by an impostor and that these people are involved in the Eugenics W...What's wrong with you, Nerys?"

"Kira Nerys is not here, Odo. I wanted to talk with you. It's important."

"Who, precisely, are you?"

"Well, let's just say that, while the Prophets are with Francis, I decided to visit Nerys. The Prophets. Always the most inquisitive...Of My Children...My little Angels, if you will."

Odo quickly realized who he was speaking with, spoke two words, and fainted.

"Oh, My...."

Odo and the being he couldn't bring himself to name then vanished.

Across town, a chronal wave began to move, a result of the epic battle.

"Ben? I'm Mildred Potter. Sherm tells me...Oh, here."

Contrary to much of her upbringing, Mildred gave her tall, dark, handsome descendant a real Grandma's hug. Sisko felt a stirring, and realized how much he missed his own late grandparents.

"Hey, uh, Ben? What's with that wave? Gives me a queasy feeling in my gizzard."

"It's that dreadful day, come round at last, Sherm. The end of tim........"

_**SPACE STATION DEEP SPACE NINE**_

"And You Are....?"

"I, Mister Weyoun, am from Starfleet Intelligence. My name is Colonel Sam Flagg. These are my associates, Commodore Charles Spamlamb, Captain Lois Kent, and Major Matthew Murdock, 2nd-In-Command to Captain Jonathan Tuttle, the reason why I've contacted you."

Weyoun could sense deception from Flagg, but that was expected, given the circumstances. Sam Flagg, aka Hawkeye Pierce, prayed Vorta telepathy wasn't too strong.

"Well, Colonel, I'm waiting."

Weyoun was certain they wished to negotiate Tuttle's surrender. Little did they know that the Federation would never be able to give Tuttle up.

"I'm waiting too, Weyoun."

"What...are you waiting for?"

"You know what I'm waiting for, shapeshifter."

"How dare You. I am a Vorta, not one of the blessed Founders."

"Are you sure? You could have infiltrated yourself. I'd check me out if I was you, and I am."

"You are who?"

"I told you, I'm Colonel Sam Flagg, out of Intelligence. I'm still waiting, too. Don't play dumb with me, fella. You're not as good at it as I am."

"What are you waiting for, Colonel?"

"Whether or not you're going to give back Tuttle, Weyoun. Aka Gul Damar."

"How can you ransom Tuttle back when you haven't even given him to us, yet?"

"I agree. And, by the way, I'm Damar."

Hawkeye thought to himself, *Remember, pal, you said it, I didn't*.

"Ransom Tuttle? How can we ransom him if you don't tell us how you captured him? Dominion trickery. Flagg out."

Weyoun looked at the screen.

"That man is lying. He knows where Tuttle is, Damar. Hail him again."

"Captain Kent, here."

"Captain, this is Weyoun of the Dominion. May I speak with Colonel Flagg?"

"No chance, you lousy Jem'Hadar. Flagg has got a lead on that defecting traitor Tuttle. My cloaked ships will nail him before he can provide you with anything. Kent out."

"Jem'Hadar? Do I look like a Jem'Hadar? Wait. Tuttle is defecting? Let's...keep them occupied for a time. Damar, hail and speak with them. I must figure out what Tuttle is up to."

"Hurry, Weyoun. This is a deadly game we play. Damar to Deep Space Nine. We wish to discuss the terms of Tuttle's surrender."

The man who had been called Murdock now appeared. Trapper was helping to lay the trap.

"No terms for Tuttle's surrender. I want my Captain back, now, you Romulan dogs. Murdock out."

Weyoun was starting to feel a little less passionless than usual.

"Romulans?"

Damar looked at the Vorta.

"I don't see it, myself."

"That is the end of it. Inform them that unless Tuttle surrenders within the next ten minutes, Bajor will become a vast wasteland."

"Commodore Spamlamb here. We have found Captain Tuttle. It seems, Mister Weyoun, that we have a common enemy. Tuttle, it seems, has been ahhh-simliated by the Borg."

"Commodore. You must get him back. The Borg could use Tuttle in ways that we can only imagine."

"M-hister Weyoun, yoou are quite correct. The mind frankly boggles at what they might do with such a man. Spamlamb out."

On the other end, Winchester looked at Dax.

"Jadzia—my dear. Whatever are the Borg, and what is asss-imilation?"

Dax tried her best to beg off.

"You really don't want to know that, Charles."

"Heh. It all sounds a bit like socialized medicine."

Dax nodded.

"Among other things."

Back aboard the lead Dominion vessel, Damar looked at the sensors.

"Weyoun, we've been duped. A runabout is leaving the station, impulse only, no shields, and no life support, and no organic material of any kind on board. Damn that Tuttle. Who does he think he's fooling with this kind of chicanery?!"

"He's not fooling the Dominion, Damar. Praise the Founders and fire upon that runabout."

The Jem'Hadar First confirmed the easy kill. Damar saw an incoming message.

"DS9 is hailing us."

"I thought as much. Put them on."

Colonel Flagg certainly looked angry.

"Ambassador, what have you done? WHAT--HAVE--YOU--DONE.?"

"Oh, my God."

"Major, they've killed Johnny."

"Captain, those bastards."

"Tuttle was the best of you. Remember this day what we took from your Federation. Think about the victory we go home with. Remember it always. Weyoun out."

"Damar, why aren't we underway?"

"The Jem'Hadar are holding a minute of silence in Tuttle's memory--a worthy foe, whom they shall now not be able to face in personal combat"

Weyoun stood up, his hand on his hip.

"Well, it's most inconvenient."

Worf wasn't much of a laugher. But the sight of the 4077th killing the man they created was too much. Problem: He was doing it during Tuttle's eulogy. He recovered quickly.

"I laugh--at those fools who think that, by killing Jonathan Tuttle, they can kill what he represented. Captain Tuttle has now moved into a realm----beyond legend."

Hawkeye later stood up in Sisko's office.

"See folks, we killed Tuttle, made the Dominion run around, and Margaret and I are engaged. Everything's good. Well, not everything. I mean, the entire Quadrant seems to be in mourning, and there IS a big wave of energy headed toward the station, like it was coming straight from the end of tim........."

---------------

Time had shattered. Francis Mulcahy, Catholic Priest and temporary host to the Prophets Of Bajor, was now viewing a scene of unspeakable carnage. It was a sadly familiar scene, provided through the venomous spite of General Bartford Hamilton Steele - The Third, temporary host to the Pagh Wraiths. The man who looked and sounded like but was in reality nothing at all like Sherman T. Potter laughed at him, and mocked an earlier gift he had received.

"The Priest has seen The Promise. Is he so fond of its result? Hmm? After all, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

A combination of caring nothing about Steele's words and the sight of what lay before him had Mulcahy transfixed. He was back in Israel, a few days after Christ's birth. He knew what was happening. To face it, The Priest spoke out loud. It was still terrible.

"King Herod learned of the birth of one who might one day take his throne. A petty and cruel king, he ordered the death of every male infant in his realm. In our traditions, this is referred to as The Slaughter Of The Innocents. But the king's soldiers refused to carry out so terrible a deed, and so three demons rose up at Herod's bidding, to carry out his wicked wishes."

What Mulcahy saw were not three demons, but rather men who behaved and moved like demons. The infants and their families both were put to the sword. The Watchers, an organization Francis belonged to, would record this as the last gasp of The Demon's Ride of the Horsemen. A man with wild looks and an evil glance shouted to his two fellows.

"Silas. Caspian. Carve the name of Kronos into those we send on. But before we dispatch, find out if any have seen Methos. Without him we are but three."

But their fellow was nowhere to be found, so a slaughter modern scholars doubt even took place went on with a literal vengeance. The Padre heard Steele laughing at him.

"So, Priest. It seems that the birth caused all this harm. Then there's the Crusades, the Inquisition--and on through. All this grief. All HIS fault. You, Priest, have no idea what you're up against."

Mulcahy just smiled at Steele. He was not buying any of the bitter man's attempts to twist his faith.

"On the contrary, General, I know exactly what I'm up against. Someone who is overly fond of clichés.. Now it's my turn."

The two vanished, leaving the Horsemen to complete their grisly work, and their awful search.

_**January 26, 1952**_

As Sisko awoke, he found himself in mid-20th century army fatigues, still ranked as a Captain. Beside him sat his ancestor and new friend, Sherman T. Potter. Potter looked terribly depressed. He was finishing talking to a middle-aged man with a drink in each hand.

"Uh-oh, Sherm. Looks like your pal's awake. Talk to you later. Abyssinia, Ben."

"Uh, yes...sir. Sherman, are you all right?"

"Oh, just dandy, Ben. Considering. You all right? You seemed to take that whole whirlwind thing pretty hard. Not that I kept my—cookies Ohh... Scuse me."

"Let's just say I hate time-travel, and leave it at that, sir. Two questions, if you don't mind. The first is going to seem pretty damned insulting."

"Fair warning. Shoot."

"Sherman, you are a man from the mid-20th Century South, and your wife is a product of that same culture. But you've both accepted a-----Damn, what's the current term---black man from the future who says he is your descendant. It was--quite different from what I expected, reaction-wise. I'm sorry to ask this, but---why?"

Sisko was afraid Potter might become angry. But quiet contemplation was as much a family trademark as temper and colorful language. Ben saw traces of his father's face in Sherman. It was almost unnerving.

"Ben, we are family. I've never told anyone this, but my grandpappy used to gad about with his maid. Had another family with her, folks we were never allowed to call cousin. My grandmother was a hard, cold woman who thought herself above a half-Cherokee like him. He liked his 'common-law' wife better than his legal one. I liked her, too. To me, she wasn't uppity, or wanton, or that whole sorry glossary of nice-sounding hateful words. She was Auntie. Just Auntie. Nobody left of her brood, now. Just a fourth cousin, a science fiction writer in some big city I've never met. I picked up one of his magazines. Said it was for my grandson. When you told me who you were, suddenly all the politics went away. People became people, like when I was very young. Oh, hell. Am I making any sense at all?"

"More than you could imagine, Old Man."

Somehow, Sherman knew that Ben meant that as a compliment.

"So what's the second question?"

"Sherm, where are we? When are we?"

"We're on a plane that just took off from Korea and is headed toward the US of A, hugging the coast for a brief time. But, Ben, it's never going to arrive. In about 15 minutes, we're all dead."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That man I was talking to? He was my predecessor as CO at the 4077th. His name is Henry Blake, and he's headed home, after his discharge."

Sisko knew what happened next. He had only skimmed through the O'Briens' book on the 4077th, but he still knew all too damned well what happened to Lt. Colonel Henry Blake. Sisko looked up.

"They couldn't have just put us on Krypton, could they?"

Despite the danger, Potter laughed at the joke. But that faded quickly.

"My God, Ben. What do we do?"

"Is there anything that you know--a piece of trivia, anything--that could convince Colonel Blake of our identity?"

"There is one thing, but I hope it works."

Potter walked up to Blake, and bid him come to the back of the plane with him and Sisko.

"Hey, guys. What can I do you for?"

Potter hesitated, then spoke.

"Sorry to do it this way, Henry. But there's no time. Henry Blake-There Can Be Only One."

Blake's eyes quickly shifted from surprise to horror to determination. To Sisko's shock, Henry pulled a Claymore sword from his duffle bag. He held it up to Potter, who did not flinch.

"Neither of you are of my kind. Did Flagg send you? Or is your resemblance to that slimy fruitcake Steele more than just coinky-dink? I swear, I..."

"Easy, Henry. If I just have my wallet-aaah, here."

Despite the paradox, Sherman still had a wallet-size of the staff photo of him with the 4077th. Henry was amazed.

"Sergeant Klinger. No Burns? Colonel, you've got it made in a shade. You're--from the future. Pierce and Houlihan look older, a little. This is all for real. Geez Louise. Radar. How is..."

"The lad's fine, Henry. But you most definitely are not. Listen to us if you want to live."

A few minutes later, the plane veered off and narrowly missed being hit by enemy fire. Henry was being acclaimed for his odd, life-saving request.

"Guys, I owe ya. Big. Howzabout some good bubbly? I got some in my other duffle bag."

A shaken but calmer Sisko agreed.

"I could use some non-synthehol, right now, myself."

"Oh, great! Pierce and McIntyre left an IOU in place of my--A note? Abyssinia, Henry, signed Bart Steele the Fourth? Whose alarm clock is..."

A moment later, history resumed its course. Potter and Sisko re-entered the time-stream, the death-cry of an Immortal carrying in their ears.

_**THE BATTLE OF WOLF 359**_

"Commander. C'mon. The Saratoga is done for."

But Commander Margaret Houlihan was not leaving without her husband, Ben.

"You go ahead. I've got to get to him. He has to be alive."

As Lieutenant Klinger, Chief O'Brien and the Lee twins went to continue the evacuation; Commander Houlihan heard the voice of her mentor, Curdzia Dax, berating her for holding out hope when she should just accept the facts.

"Get out of my head and shut up, Old Maid."

Then, she found him. Doctor Ben Pierce was dead. But he couldn't die--what was going on? How could she marry a man whose leaving her would cause so much pain, if it should happen?

Outside, the Borg attack led by Blakeutus continued.

_**MASH 4077th, 1952**_

Colonel Potter was livid. A letter from home was the cause.

"Not home enough. That's what I'm hearing. Can you believe this? What can I do?"

Head Nurse Julian Bashir spoke up.

"Colonel, Sherman's a good man. Maybe he just expected to find those army boots under the bed a little more often."

Colonel Mildred Potter reluctantly agreed with Julian. Sherm had always kept the home fires burning without complaint. Then, the wounded arrived.

"We have a problem, Julian. I have no idea how to perform an operation."

"A double-problem, Colonel. I think somehow I do."

Quark walked in to the Officers' Club.

"Worse still folks. These tall metal cylinders make the WORST Raktageno in the whole of Asia."

"C'mon guys. WOUNDED. Ya know? The reason we're here?"

All followed Jake O'Reilly without necessarily knowing why. Father Rom and Doctor Leeta Dabo were roused from their slumbers, while Nog slept happily in the motor pool.

_**24TH-CENTURY BAJO**_R

Kai Opaka walked into her office, only to find Kai Winn there.

"Kai Opaka? Oh, Prophets, you've been brought back to us, through this time-chaos."

"Vedek Winn? YOU'RE my successor?"

"Well, yes. Aren't you pleased?"

"Adami, child, I love you. But you were always so morally ambivalent, despite your faith. Always placing goals ahead of ethics."

"Morally ambivalent?"

"Yes, child."

"Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?"

_**DEEP SPACE NINE, ONE YEAR PRIOR**_

"Elim?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"Why, ehe-xactly are we hiding out?"

"Well, you see, Charles, at this point in time, Deep Space Nine was occupied by the Dominion. Their Cardassian Viceroy, Gul Dukat, does not care for me. It's mostly mutual, as was our love for his daughter Ziyal. Of course, my loving her didn't make him hate me any less. Quite the contrary. We seem to have slipped through to that point in time, and I think we should both keep quiet for now, or I'll slit you from ear to ear."

"Garak?"

"Yes, Doctor Winchester?"

"Was this dear Ziyal mayhap half-Bajoran?"

"Yes, she was."

"And does this Gul Dukat have a face that almost seems a pressed uniform?"

"Hmm. Now that I think of it, he does."

"And were they followed by a Cardassian whose face seems a wrinkled uniform?"

"That would be Damar, Dukat's replacement and Ziyal's killer, coincidentally. Why?"

Charles Winchester grabbed Garak's small phaser, and fired at Damar's knee, causing his shot to go wild, missing Ziyal and Dukat, who then noticed them.

As Damar lay in pain, Charles responded to Garak's query.

"No reason".

Dukat stared intently at Charles.

"Human, you just saved my daughter's life. That's a debt beyond comprehension I owe you. But the low company you keep makes letting you live difficult."

Dukat then quite calmly incinerated Damar. Garak found this amusing.

"Now, who will Weyoun insult? Tch."

Dukat didn't get the joke, but laughed nevertheless, then raised his disruptor, and fired at Garak. Dukat was quick. Ziyal, sadly, was quicker.

"Father. NO. I told you I love Elim..."

To the horror of all three men, Ziyal died again, this time at the hands of her father, who quickly turned the weapon upon himself. Before disappearing back to his own reality, Garak did get to cradle the dying Ziyal in his arms. His voice almost choked as he said:

"Thank You, Charles."

"I...You're...No. Oh, Please, no."

Winchester didn't understand that Elim Garak really was grateful, in his own way. For he now had another good memory of Ziyal, perhaps the fondest one of all.

_**NEBRASKA**_

"Alexander!"

"Over Here, Trapper."

Trapper John McIntyre had never been so glad to see anyone, let alone a part-Human alien kid. The cornfields they were in seemed to go on forever. Alexander was sitting with an ancient-looking black lady who Trapper felt he knew, somehow. He said her name.

"Mother Abigail?"

"Mayhap I is, and mayhap I ain't. What's wrong with you, Trapper John Francis Xavier McIntyre of San Francisco? You look shook up."

Something felt so right about this lady, Trapper just opened up.

"Well, Ma'am, I am. I dreamed I was five or six different people, like there were reject versions of me running around. Some of the guys didn't even look like me, but they were me. It's like dreams I've had."

Alexander spoke up.

"Guess what, Trapper. Mother Abigail says that my mother Kehley'r's human family is descended from you. You're my ancestor, and...owww."

Mother Abigail hit Alexander lightly with her cane.

"When was you given leave to speak, Boy? Would a Klingon woman have let that go? Don't tell me she would have."

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"Now, Trapper, don't fret none about those others. Soonways, the Gunslinger will draw you to be a small part of his quest. Then shall ye seek The Dark Tower, and fight your foe."

"Who is that foe—ma'am?"

Before she disappeared, and Alexander and him were returned, Mother Abigail told Trapper what he needed to hear.

"Who is always your foe, Boy? He calls hisself Flagg."

Somewhere in limbo, Trapper nodded.

"Well, at least THAT makes sense. Say, when is a 'Soonways'?"

_**UNKNOWABLE**_

Deanna sat, and listened to Worf. He was still hiding something, something that was making him crazy.

"So did the Vulcan woman quiet the sehlat whelp?"

"Yes. Then the Jem'Hadar patrol passed, and all was well. Why wouldn't it be? I will leave, now, Counselor. I have my..."

"Not just yet, Worf. How did she quiet it?"

"Does that matter?"

"Humor me."

"I believe she put it to sleep. No, I mean, she caused it to sleep. I--she--she was forced to smother the sehlat whelp. Sad, that this should happen to a child's pet child. I mean....I mean ...AAAAHHHH."

In Worf's memory, the 'sehlat whelp' grew pointed ears.

"Kahless—she slew her own child. I did not mean for her to---aaaaaghhhhHHH!!!"

"Worf, I..."

But there were no words for Worf. Only a world of shame and pain, and eventually-healing.

He had cradled the dying Margaret in his arms. Now, he was on Potter's ship, facing Burns down for the last time. Burns was indignant.

"By what right is that Communist Traitor on board the ship where I'll become President?"

Potter smiled, and those crazed eyes shown through.

"Don't count your ballots yet, Burns. Even a convictee has...Right Of Vengeance."

"Oh, Frank. One, It was your father, not mine, who sold out Roosevelt at Yalta. Two, Margaret was my MATE. Three, It Is A Good Day To Die. FOR YOU."

Burns just shook like a bowl of jello, waiting for Hawkeye's Scalpeleth.

_**1957 - Reborn**_

As the being who possessed Kira departed, having given Odo some answers he would have to ponder, he asked two more questions. The being who called the Prophets his 'Children' nodded yes, that he should ask them.

"The things you've shown me have been amazing. Was it really only six days for you to do it all?"

"I love you, Odo. No comment."

Odo would need to talk to Francis Mulcahy--about a lot of things. But for now, he at least knew that he had a destiny. Now it was just a matter of ciphering it out.

Across town, General Steele screamed triumphantly. From across time, he gathered the 4077th and Deep Space Nine personnel to witness his victory.

"Priest, you've failed. What was all that soap-opera nonsense? Chaos? Confusion? Terror? That is our domain. Again, I ask you, What was it?"

The heroes and their allies smiled. They knew that Father Mulcahy had sent them through time and space for a reason. Even the most cynical of them could feel that.

"What was it, General? What was it you ask? That was Life--Our Domain. Care to go through it again?"

At that, the General began to shake. The Pagh Wraiths left him. They feared life and the living more than anything else. The Priest opened a portal for them.

"You are banished back to the beginning, there to repeat your mistakes as you always have. Farewell, grim brothers."

Kira knew that she would fight the Pagh Wraiths again; they all would. But for the timeless Prophets, this was the final battle. She felt compelled to say something to them.

"Blessed Prophets. He says to give you greetings--and---and--Write More Often?"

Inside Mulcahy, the Prophets laughed heartily.

"He always says that."

Just then, the powerless Steele jumped up, towards the portal.

"No, don't leave me. You promised you would never leave meeeee....aaaahhhh.."

The energies of the portal were somewhat incompatible with human flesh. The General would flip no more. The Prophets departed an exhausted Father Mulcahy. Sisko was the first to run up. Kira was next, hugging the instrument of the Prophets' final victory. Sisko spoke.

"Father Mulcahy. You just prevented the Fall Of Creation. What do you do for an encore?"

A bit confused, the Padre thought for a moment.

"Well, Captain, Colonel. I had been planning to visit that California theme park Mister Disney put up quite recently."

_

* * *

_

_**1957 - Earth**_

Not quite knowing how he got to River Bend, Missouri from Deep Space Nine, Hawkeye Pierce walked over to his new fiancée, Margaret Houlihan. She looked shaken. She was.

"Five cents for your thoughts, Hot Lips?"

That he felt that comfortable saying Margaret's old nickname both comforted her and made her shake. She loved Hawkeye Pierce, and she knew he loved her. But the walls she had built around herself were formidable indeed. Built to protect her, they now would allow no one else in. She would be eight more years in taking them down. Each had seen the other die in their vision. To Hawkeye, it meant he was only gladder to see her alive. To Margaret, it awakened her dormant fear of losing him, of being hurt once more.

"Pierce, I don't know if my thoughts are worth a damned penny."

Some people would regard a person calling their fiancée by their last name as a sign of coldness. But to Margaret, 'Pierce' was as much an honored title as a name. One day, it was a title she would gladly assume. But it would not be as soon as she or he expected.

"We don't have to get married today, you know. There's something to be said for long engagements."

At that, Margaret felt her cage open. She smiled at the man she loved but wasn't sure she could survive losing. For all her confusion, it was a loving smile.

"Trying to back out, Mister? I may have let Frank off the hook, but your proposal is binding, pal. Like it or not, you are marrying into a military family."

"I like it. I like it. But remember, it did take four centuries for me to propose. Give a man some time---I'm sorry, Margaret. I didn't mean..."

Margaret looked lost.

"A day for every year, that's what Jadzia said. My God, Hawkeye, we are going to bury each and every one of our friends. We're like---"

"The word is Immortals, Margaret. Only we're not like..."

"Like who?"

"Remember our pal Duncan? Also, a very smart shrink, very nice young man, and very befuddled CO?"

Margaret's eyes went wide.

"Them? All of them? Oh, my...I am not sharing eternity with Frank, am I?"

Hawkeye smiled, and turned his head.

"I firmly believe that, if there is a God, my darling, he does not have that twisted a sense of humor."

At that, the newly engaged chit-chatted on and on. Unable to avoid the engagement ring any longer, the two could now happily and joyfully work on avoiding the altar. From nearby, Colonel Sherman Potter and Chief Miles O'Brien watched and listened without meaning to.

"Heh. Those two. Tell me, Miles. In your time, what do they do with two folk like that who obviously love each other but dance around so blasted much, trying to avoid help or hurt?"

Miles thought for a moment.

"Colonel, in my time? They make them the Command Crew of the Starship Enterprise."

Potter stared at O'Brien, but quickly realized it was a kind of joke, so laughed with him.

"Quite a little town you got here, Colonel. Good place to come when your war is done. I never heard of River Bend in my early studies of the 20th Century, anyway."

"Miles?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Do you folk ever study any century besides the big 2-0?"

"Er, uh. Ya know, I almost think we don't. Imagine that."

After that, Potter walked over to talk with Pierce and McIntyre. He told them of the way that Henry Blake really died. All 4077th alumni then made a vow not to rest until the chain-smoking punk, Bartford Hamilton Steele the 4th, was somehow made to pay for Henry's murder.

Bashir saw that his ancestor's brother, Charles Winchester, was talking to his sometime friend Elim Garak.

"So, despite Ziyal's second death, you feel you owe me, Elim?"

"Oh, my, Yes, Charles. I had accepted Ziyal's death. I knew that no accident of time was going to revive her. But I had a chance to hold her, to say goodbye. Unusually sentimental of me, but Ziyal and I were always hard to figure, anyway."

"I'm sorry, Garak, but I..."

"Oh, Charles. Meet Julian Bashir, the finest surgeon in all of Starfleet. Julian, this is..."

"Elim, Doctor Winchester's sister is my ancestor. I hardly need to be told who he is."

"Further, Eeeellim, you already identified young Julian as my kith when you identified him as your finest surgeon."

Winchester shook hands with Julian, then walked off to speak with his fellows from the 4077th.

"Julian?"

"Yes, Garak?"

"Your ancestor-uncle is a preening, self-important, cold, egotistical obnoxious bore. And yet..."

"And yet what?"

"Despite all that, I find it impossible to really like him. Why is that, do you suppose?"

Bashir had no clue, either.

Inside the Potter household, a feast was being served. Mildred Potter handed Jake Sisko a huge plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Jake smiled at her, knowing the effort this breakfast took.

"Thank You, Mrs. Potter."

Mildred stood with her arms folded.

"Thank You---Grandma."

Mildred reached over and kissed the young man on the cheek.

"There, now, was that so hard?"

As she left, Jake leaned over to his father.

"Dad? Whatever happened to mid-20th Century racism?"

Sisko, in the middle of not a few home fries, just shrugged.

"We'll look for some later, Jake. Maybe we'll stop at the gift shop, and pick up a souvenir."

"You know what I..."

"Will you two just shut up and eat? The sight of all these clothed females makes this bay-kon taste fantastic."

Quark and the other two Ferengi then went back to their meals. Mildred gestured for Leeta to join her in the kitchen.

"Yes, Mrs. Potter?"

"Leeta, how can you stand to be near that monster?"

Leeta frowned. The limits of tolerance had been hit. The nice woman couldn't be blamed for her narrow-mindedness. She wondered what Mildred thought of her nose ridge. Mrs. Potter continued.

"I'm sorry to say Monster, but that Quark really is the rudest thing. I can't believe a good man like your husband is his brother."

Leeta's heart jumped, and she asked the Prophets to forgive her and bless this dear woman.

Outside, Trapper John sat with Worf and Alexander. Trapper was told about Keh'lyr.

"So you see, Doctor, my first wife was named for Emperor Kahless, as are many Klingon children. But there are a great variety of derivatives, all with their own shades of meaning. Keh'lyr, translated into your English, means, "The Cager Of Prey". Or, more briefly, 'Trapper'. I am told her Human family regarded this as a compromise, in your honor."

"Izzat right? Hmm."

Trapper reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. He gave them to Alexander.

"Here, kid. Ain't much, as legacies go, but it's all I have on me."

Alexander put them on.

"They're terrific, Trapper. Oh, I could have used these after Jadzia's bachelorette party."

Worf glared at his son. Alexander gulped.

"That's if I had attended. Heh. Which I didn't. I was with you and the others, Father. Heh-uh-oh."

"We shall discuss this later."

Suddenly, Sisko was behind Worf.

"No, Mr. Worf, we'll discuss this now. Doctor Pierce has told me all kinds of interesting things about things you told him. We just got time and space repaired, Worf. Why are you trying to destroy it?"

With Pierce, Houlihan and Dax looking on sympathetically, it was now Worf's turn to gulp-hard.

Bashir checked on Max Klinger. The news was good.

"Luckily for you, Max, the effects of the personality detachment have very much passed. As with many cases, it was fear and panic caused by the detachment that made it seem worse than it was."

Max looked up from his chair. Something was still bothering him.

"Doc, what exactly is personality detachment? I know what happened to Eddie, but with me it almost seemed like I was calling out to Max, but he-me wasn't listening. It was weird, is what it was."

"Eddie's case was a travesty, Max. I shall see to it that his name is listed as the first casualty of the Eugenics War. As to the rest, you can't just "bump" someone up in evolution. Everything we are is geared to how quickly we think, react and contemplate. Change any one of those things, and the person needs to adjust. Change all of them-and more-and a new person needs to emerge. Now, in the case of yourself, and the Pierces--er, I mean, Doctor Pierce and Major Houlihan, you were all three such strong personalities that it wasn't so pronounced as it might have been."

"You know what frightens me, Doc?"

"No what, Max?"

"Because of my acceleration, I just understood every word you said."

Kira looked at River Bend, and noticed something.

"Where's all the people? There are aliens swarming over a town in pre-Contact Earth, and no one notices?"

"Something wrong, Major?"

"Father Mulcahy. Did the Prophets do something to the people around here? No one is seeing Worf, Quark, or Odo."

"Not the Prophets, my Child. Just--me."

"Father. How?"

"It was a gift I've always had. Your Prophets just awakened it, they said. Something about chronoton particles, or some such. An incredible thing, to realize you can travel through time. Such an awesome responsibility. I don't know if I can handle it. There are so many dangers, Nerys. I couldn't bring myself to hold the Infant Jesus. Now I feel as though I am, anyway. What will I do?"

Kira squeezed Mulcahy's hand.

"You'll do fine, Francis. You Are The Priest. By the way, why did Odo wish to speak with you?"

Odo knew the Padre hadn't given him the Bible as a proselytizing tool, but he was still intrigued. There, he would find the answers to what the 'Father Of The Prophets' had told him. That being had told him the Founders would call him three names, besides his own. He knew what Cain meant, and he knew what Lucifer meant. Both these words had applied to his past dealings with the Founders. But the third he only found just now. His eyes were transfixed on the page of the Book Of The Prophet Isaiah. It told the meaning of the third thing his people would, in their time, call him: Immanuel.

If Odo had a heart like a Solid, it might have stopped then and there. As it was, a sense of peace drifted over him. All was calm, and his destiny never seemed more brightly lit.

Two women whose uncommon identical beauty helped spark this mess sat together for the last time.

"Keiko, how can I miss someone who won't be born until well after I am dead?"

"My question, Soon-Lee, is how can I miss someone who is long dead in my great-grandmother's time?"

Both looked at one another, and knew the answer, which they spoke together.

"With All My Heart."

At that, Father Mulcahy restored everyone to their proper time and place. Oddly, he let his friends keep their memories, but made sure to instill upon them the awesome burden they faced. All went as before, with the exception of Hawkeye Pierce looking at the camera in 2003, after Khan's defeat, and saying one odd thing.

"Hey, Worf. Did I do alright?"

_**Deep Space Nine**_

"Er, no, Constable. I wouldn't bother the O'Briens for another two days, at least. Just trust me on this one."

"All right, Captain. I have some smuggler friends of Quark's to attend to, anyway."

Odo was in the vents with a thought. Sisko didn't look up.

"Good man, the Constable. But still a trifle odd, you ask me."

_**River Bend, Missouri**_

"Er, no, Padre. I wouldn't bother the Klingers for another two days, at least. Just trust me on this one."

"All right, Colonel. I have to attend the Fourth Crusade, anyway."

Mulcahy vanished with a thought. Potter didn't look up.

"Good man, the Padre. But still a trifle odd, you ask me."

_**September 12, 1983**_

Fourth cousins Benjamin Russell and Sherman Potter were being reunited in a big way. Benny's son was marrying Potter's youngest granddaughter. They were distant enough to be safe, but not so distant as to rob it of family meaning. It was still rough for interracial couples, but they were both good kids, and had already weathered some attacks from those 'bold defenders.' It hurt both men that so few of their other family members bothered to show up. A greater hurt lay after the ceremony, though. Benny knew that, in his science fiction stories, no one truly died.

But as he saw Walter O'Reilly worriedly shake Sherman Potter, then grab his own tear-stained eyes, Benny knew that death was quite real. Because it had been so important to Sherman that he live to see this ceremony, Benny's next Deep Space Nine novel, the fifteenth in his Hugo-Winning series, had his space heroes visiting a Veteran's Hospital in 1957, and named the administrator Sherman T. Potter. "Visions Of The AfterMASH" was a runaway hit. Many of Benny's works, sadly, were lost in the chaos of the next century.

_**December 25, 1989**_

Sean O'Brien weeped openly. His great-uncle Francis, Bishop of St. Louis, had left them on this most holy day. Before dying, he disappeared briefly, then returned, saying that, this time, he had held the child. Then he was gone. Sean swore to deliver his uncle's package to Father Darius in Paris. For now, though, he and his family mourned, as did all of Francis' friends who received the news. Among the attendees at the funeral was a Scotsman named Duncan Noel.

"Well, so that's it."

Francis' spirit soared higher, ever higher, then stopped. He saw the Prophets Of Bajor. Now he was a light, as they were. They asked him to join them, and he saw that his God would not object, so he did. The Prophets had one last surprise in store for him, though.

"Welcome home, Francis. We've missed you."

"And I, my brothers and sisters, have missed you. But you should really take a stab at being human. I found the experience- Most Exhilarating."

_**20 years after the end of The Dominion War**_

The Bajoran Ambassador looked out upon her embassy, built on the Sacred Ground that was once River Bend, Missouri. Offworld Kai Kira Nerys felt as though she had come home. She hoped Odo could join her, soon. Many of the other Founders rejected his teachings, and she feared for his life, at times. But she had faith. Lots of it.

Ezri looked at her husband. It had taken years, but Trill finally relented and let them marry. Worf was still a magnificent brute, after all this time. Bashir had even wished them well from the medical ship he now commanded. With them was their old friend Admiral Sisko, the returned Emissary there to bless the new Bajoran embassy. It was incredible to stand where all that had occurred. Behind them, though, were two people who--- just shouldn't be there.

"Hawkeye? Margaret? Here? Did you Time Travel again?"

Margaret merely smiled.

"Don't look so shocked, Dax. You did say a day for every year. How are you all doing? I love this place. Ooh. I hated waiting for First Contact with Bajor. So many nice fashions. I'm sorry about Jadzia, kiddo."

"Hey, Worf?"

"Yes, Hawkeye?"

"Who is that a statue of?"

"The Greatest Hero Of The Dominion War. He who died so well."

"Please don't tell me...."

Worf almost smiled.

"I'm afraid so, Pierce. This is the Jonathan S. Tuttle Memorial."

The half-millennium couple stared blankly at the great, shining lie they had wrought. Then, Hawkeye spoke the last word.

"Uh-hunh."


	2. Persistent Visions

**Persistent Visions**

By Rob Morris

_**DEEP SPACE NINE, 2374**_

Colonel Kira set the doors of her office to opaque. She nodded to her visitor. It had been a difficult six weeks. But it was not Jadzia's death she wished to talk of, nor Sisko's departure and withdrawal. No, what she had to talk about could only be spoken of with either the ailing Vedek Yarka, now an avowed enemy of Kai Winn, or the being who sat before her.

"I do not hold to your faith, or its tenets, as least as they are written in your holy books. I have never given Confession. In my faith, everything must be brought out, lest evil dwell in the shadows. But do I understand correctly that the matters I speak of here with you are strictly between me and -"

"And God. Yes, Nerys. That is correct."

"I was going to say me and The Prophets. But that's part of why you're here, Francis. You are a Catholic Priest. The Prophets have said that you are The Priest. As both, I am in desperate need of your assistance. I think I'm teetering on the edge of blasphemy."

"You, Nerys? I'd no more believe that than I'd believe Radar was a cold-blooded murderer!"

Kira shook her head.

"Isn't Walter O'Reilly an Immortal?"

Father Mulcahy nodded, remembering.

"Oh, Yes. How could I forget? I was his Watcher in Korea. I suppose you mean his method of survival."

"Francis, the man cuts off other people's heads with a sword. But that's my point. People do harsh things to get by. I did. It seems to be Kai Winn's Rule Of Life, even when she doesn't have to be that way. But she never seems to get assaulted by the big questions. I can't believe she would be as ruthless as she is if she were that self-aware."

Mulcahy tried to draw Kira out.

"My child-what is it that disturbs you?"

Kira felt comforted by a phrase that, if said by her own Kai, would sound condescending and exploratory.

"Father-do you still believe that The Prophets are angels, in service to your God?"

"Nerys, what I said was not meant to in any way denigrate-"

"Please-just Yes or No."

There was despair in her eyes.

"Yes-I do. They are powerful, wondrous beings. They have domin-er, they have power over time. They have granted me some of that power, and have asked me to explain my beliefs to them. They asked me-Me, a kid from Philly-to battle forces of avarice and wickedness on their behalf. They asked for nothing in return."

His eyes were tearing.

"They allowed me to look upon Bethlehem, on the night my faith tells me the Universe was reborn! But they are not my God. He-is One, and I may have no other Gods. That is The First Commandment. Nerys-why are you asking me this?"

She looked down, then at him again.

"Francis-we all had visions, as you fought The Pagh Wraiths. But in mine, a force descended upon me, and claimed that he was 'The Father Of The Prophets'. He called them his children, his little-angels."

A stunned Francis said two words more, and not entirely as an exclamation.

"My God."

_**PLANET EARTH**_

The Commander of Deep Space Nine, Captain Of The Defiant, Scourge Of The Dominion, and Emissary Of The Prophets Benjamin Lafayette Sisko-was shucking clams. He had gotten pretty good at it. Right then, he felt it was all he was good for. From inside, he heard his father's voice.

"You can talk to him, if you want. But I won't wish you luck-that's in scarce supply, right now."

The visitor chuckled with Joseph Sisko, and then came out. Ben tried to shoo him off.

"I have to warn you, I'm not much company right now."

"Yeah? Well, that's alright. If I wanted a lot of company, I'dve braved Mildred's family reunion. Strike that-no one I know is that brave."

Despite the wormhole, and Jadzia, Sisko smiled at his visiting ancestor.

"Hello, Sherman."

Colonel Potter nodded, and smiled back.

"Could you use a hand with those? I can still shuck em' with the very best."

Sherman Potter had seen three bloody wars. Joseph Sisko had seen none. For that reason alone, Ben allowed this intrusion.

"Pull up a chair-Old Man."

The shattered Captain looked out at the night sky.

"Once, I would have said that those stars were the eyes of God-or The Prophets-or both-or neither. It didn't matter, because of what they symbolized in my mind. Beauty-and mystery. Now, all that is gone, and all my mind sees is an endless row of razor teeth, and the sky has become the mouth of Gul Dukat, ready to devour everything I hold dear. Like Jennifer. Like poor dear Tora Ziyal. Like Jadzia."

Potter continued to shuck clams, but spoke up as well.

"Ben-grandson mine, give ten or so generations-a wise man once told a doctor that in war, good young people die, and no one and nothing can alter that rule. The Jadzia I met was a soldier, and she was married to a soldier. She knew the risks."

"Is that your saying, Sherm?"

The older soldier shook his head.

"Nope. That saying -or something very much like it-was told to Hawkeye in Nineteen-Hundred-And-Fifty-by Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake-and may God rest and keep his Immortal's soul."

Ben started at something Sherman had said.

"Henry Blake was an Immortal? That's right-I wondered why you said that odd phrase to him. Who was he, Sherm? Really."

"Once, he was Bedivere, a Knight under King Arthur. Later-he was just one hell of a guy."

Sisko covered his face.

"You mean to tell me, that I met a Knight Of The Round Table? No less than Arthur's First Knight and Nephew? Ohhh-Sherm. We failed to save a man of that value?"

Potter again shook his head.

"Ben-haven't you been listening? When we met him, Henry Blake was already dead. We couldn't alter history-it took me time to realize that. But we were in the middle of a war-a time-war, but a war nevertheless. I even think that the Prophets showed you that to maybe prepare you better for Jadzia."

Sisko nodded.

"I wouldn't put it past them. They've done things to me, Sherman. I see everything differently. They wanted an Emissary, and I was a reluctant one. So they custom-fit me. Told me how to win. But I ignored their advice-just once-but for Jadzia, that once was enough. Now Worf, another friend, grieves for his wife-and its all my fault."

Sherm Potter took in everything that had been said, and offered up his learned opinion of Sisko's self-judgment.

"Mule-Muffins."

_**DEEP SPACE NINE**_

Kira looked straight at Mulcahy.

"Father, forgive me. For I Am A Blasphemer. Both to my faith-and to yours. If that being was your God, and if he is The Father Of The Prophets-then they themselves are not gods, but merely Angels, as you call them. If that being was a Pagh Wraith or some kind of trickster-then I have allowed it to take our Gods in vain, and allowed myself to believe it all might be true. Am I damned?"

While not chuckling, Francis moved quickly to dispel this notion of damnation.

"Nerys-you are not damned. If anything, you are among the most blessed of all beings-to touch the One, True-"

Francis caught himself.

"I am sorry, My Child. I promise not to let it happen again."

"Don't apologize, Father. I did ask a Priest of another faith to speak with me, after all-and I'm glad I did. Let's say-it was your God. Why speak through me?"

Now, the Padre did chuckle.

"Why do The Prophets speak through Captain Sisko-or myself, for that matter? Kira, whoever this being, or these beings are-I am sure of this much. They are forces for and of good. Angels or Prophets, Avatars or Almighty-we should both concentrate on how very blessed we are to be able to ask these very weighty questions. Whoever they all truly are-we know that we love and are loved by them. Isn't that enough?"

She tried to smile.

"It should be. It almost is. But all these 'What If' questions still make me fear for my soul, Francis. I mean, What If I ask the wrong question?"

"What if you fail to ask the right one?"

That caused her to think, so Mulcahy continued.

"As to all this talk of damnation-to think that a stray thought in and of itself places you in line for Hell is taking even the doctrine of 'Impure Thoughts' a bit far. Damnation, like Salvation, is earned."

"I suppose that just these questions alone can't destroy me."

Mulcahy looked at the office door.

"Exactly-words and questions have little bearing. Watch-'I, Francis Mulcahy, The Priest, declare that whomever walks through that door next is forever condemned.' You see-my words, which I will ask forgiveness for later on, have no-"

A robed figure came into the office, fuming.

"Francis Mulcahy-you are a pernicious influence on my people. I hereby challenge you to a public debate of our beliefs. Good day!"

Still confused, Kira smiled about The Kai's entry so soon after that proclamation.

"Francis-I know who'll I be rooting for."

Mulcahy nodded.

"I just wish I knew who HE will be rooting for, Nerys."

_**EARTH, NEW ORLEANS**_

Sisko responded to Potter's dismissal of his self-pity.

"Sherm-please leave. I don't need one of your colorful aphorisms. My problems may in fact amount to Mule Muffins, as you put it. But they are my problems, and I alone can solve them-in solitude."

The wily older man shifted gears.

"Ok-no advice. I hate folks telling me to cheer up. I never get off the canvas till I'm good and ready, anyhow."

Ben nodded appreciatively.

"I'm sorry, Sherm-and thank you for understanding."

Potter continued to shuck clams.

"Ben-if you're not up for a pep-rally, howzabout a story. It's about a friend of mine-and no, that friend is not myself, you, Jake, Joe, or anybody in my or your circles of really close friends. It's about a fellow CO, name of Bob Hogan."

Sisko sat back down, and continued to shuck clams. He acquiesced to the yarn - spinning of his ancestor.

"So long as it doesn't contain a moral. My father has told me so many stories, with so many morals, that my moral morale is in a mired morass."

Potter did a double-take, to see if Hawkeye Pierce was about. He then began his story.

"Colonel Robert Hogan was in charge of a hush-hush OSS Operation inside Germany during The Big One. Using tunnels and caves dating back to the Neanderthal era, he and his men had free run of a POW camp. Of course, it didn't hurt that the staff were all boobs, and that the local SS and Generals were so very impressed with themselves. Using those unique circumstances plus their own talents-they helped to send captured POW's back home. The irony being-the camp they were staying in was always recorded as having a negligible escape record. Their efforts helped the Allied war effort in the best possible way-by putting soldiers back behind tanks and rifles, gunners back at their batteries, and pilots back in their cockpits."

Sherman paused, and saw Ben nod.

"Go on. Were they ever captured?"

Potter smiled inside, knowing that Sisko had not yet caught on to his scheme.

"Nope. Many a close call, mind you. But when US Tanks came rolling in, Hogan's Heroes had already disabled most of the remaining German war machine in their area. Phone lines cut, radios inoperative. Where our boys needed a bridge, it stayed up. Where the Nazis needed a bridge, it went up. They were, to coin a phrase, awesome. Then they went back to England, heroes to all, watching the newsreels of themselves. Ben, they were one and all outraged at what they saw."

Ben shook his head.

"Were the newsreels that inaccurate?"

"No, they were dead on. What they were outraged by was a part of the Nazi war effort they had not known about. No one had, outside of Germany. Hell, many inside Germany were shocked to find out."

Sisko did the arithmetic.

"The Holocaust. Sherm, I wish I could tell you that was the last time it happened-or even that it never happened on so large a relative scale again. But it did. From Hitler's madness and evil, dictators and thugs across creation have drawn inspiration, and..."

Something caught Ben's attention.

"Why didn't Allied Command inform Hogan of the death-camps? If he and his men were that talented, then he might have been able to liberate..."

Potter sat sadly still.

"Ben, Eisenhower's people said that with Hogan's mile-a-second mind, he could have had half those camps freed. But then, what to do with all those folks, many of whom could barely move? No real way to rescue em' while they were travelling in Fortress Europa."

Ben Sisko remembered his devil-deal with Garak, that brought the Romulans into the Dominion War. A disgusting choice that gave all of the Alpha Quadrant much-needed breathing room. So he chose to dispute Sherman's account.

"They could have found a way. Had Hogan free one camp at a time. At least that would have saved some of those poor people."

Potter shrugged.

"And then what? After each camp, the Germans would grow wilier-they always did. No, Supreme Allied Command made the determination that the best use of Hogan's Heroes was to free the POW's, as they were doing. Any other use would have rendered them quickly ineffective, and harmed the very people they were trying to help. An ugly choice. But it was wartime-when ugly choices get made."

Sisko was still not buying.

"The lives of millions of people, Sherm. That makes it a hard balance to put on your world's ledger. Tell me-did Bob Hogan ever accept that explanation?"

"No. Even blamed himself for a time. That's the kind of man he is. Never accepting what he's done as enough. Then one day, I reminded him of a simple fact. Ben, a soldier can only act on the information his superiors give him. If they are secretive-or talk in riddles-then a man can only make the best choice possible. Bob didn't care much for my words, then. But he says they helped him a month or so later, when they kicked in."

Sisko managed a light smile.

"Remind me to have The Padre time-nap you, next time I play Poker with Doctor Bashir."

Potter's smile was not so light.

"So long as you return the favor with me and Pierce-it's a deal."

A long month still lay ahead for Captain Benjamin Sisko. But that very night, after his talk with retired Colonel Sherman T. Potter of River Bend, Missouri, 1957 vintage-he began to dream of a desert- and a quest. For now, though, he saw a dangerous sky above him-and he had clams to shuck.

Inside the restaurant, Potter spoke with Joseph Sisko, also his descendant, and a man in whom Sherman's facial features were somewhat in evidence.

"Thanks for talking to Francis, Joe. I never imagined a man like Ben could be laid so low. I just wish I knew if I helped him any. But sometimes, a man just doesn't want any help."

Joseph nodded.

"But we both know, Sherm-that's when a man usually most desperately needs that help. Besides-I think you might have finally started him on the road back. I don't cherish sending him off to war, mind you. Then again, I never wanted him to join Starfleet to begin with."

Potter asked the obvious question.

"Why? Anti-Military?"

"Kind of. But really, it's a family matter."

On a small com-screen, Joseph pulled up an image. Sherman was confused.

"Joe-you just said you didn't care for Starfleet. But this is a picture of you in as ornate a uniform as this son of a vampire ever laid spectacles on."

"Son of a-? Never mind. Sherman, that man in the picture was my grandfather, Starfleet Grand Admiral Brock Cartwright. He nearly brought the Federation low, with his schemes. Made a devil's deal with the Klingons and Romulans, looking to start a war. Part of me fears Ben dying on me like poor, sweet Jennifer did. Part of me fears him taking Brock's path. Hell, I was nearly named after the bastard. I wish to God Almighty Ben weren't needed. But he is. We need him to send Dukat and his shapeshifting buddies straight to Hell. And God help me, because I never thought I'd come to think that way."

Sherman nodded, while Joseph cooked some ham on the grill.

"War is Hell, Joe. And we end up spending a lot more time there and taking a lot more of it with us than we'd ever like."

As Sherm ate with Joseph and Jake, he began to wonder where his time-ride was.

Francis didn't need to know that Winn Adami had packed the audience with her supporters. He could just tell. He didn't mind, though. The very best fights were staged before hostile crowds that the visiting fighter would win over.

Father Mulcahy didn't like thinking of it as a fight. But everything he had read, heard or seen about Kai Winn suggested that she always thought of it that way. Like his hero, The Gentleman Boxer, Francis always went into a fight prepared to win. But hopefully, he could do so without destroying the other boxer. This was the ideal, in any event.

Colonel Kira announced the beginning.

"We are truly blessed today, to hear an exchange of ideas between two people whose lives have been directly touched by The Blessed Prophets. There is Her Eminence, Kai Winn Adami, Leader Of The Revered Vedek Assembly, And The Voice Of Faith On Bajor."

Winn nodded, and was all calm and regal confidence as she ascended. She smiled at her 'children', and despite herself, Nerys was drawn in. She was The Kai, after all.

Then Kira remembered the school. Then the siege. Then the extortion that won her election. Then her overwork of the dying Bareil. Her failure to truly acknowledge Benjamin Sisko as The Emissary until The Lost City was staring her in the face. Even then, her talk was of all she herself had endured-never anyone else. Colonel Kira Nerys then had a vision of startling and frightening clarity : Winn Adami was going to dwell with The Pagh Wraiths, and now nothing could be done to avert that.

Gathering herself, she introduced her own favorite, a man whose view of faith was far closer to her own. Kira and Francis had different religions. But they both viewed Faith as having mysteries, of itself being a mystery. Like Vedek Yarka and Bareil himself, he was a man of humility and gentleness, not fixated on the need to be right.

"The Prophets have said that The Potter will build a vessel for The Emissary with The Clay provided for him by The Priest. While the deeper meanings of all that are lost on such as we, these things are known. Sherman Potter is ancestor and inspiration to Benjamin Sisko, The Prophets' chosen Emissary. A man who helped to inspire Potter was this man, Father John Francis Patrick Mulcahy, who belongs to a Terran sect of Christianity called Roman Catholicism. I know him to be a gentle and gracious man, and one who has never tried to proselytize me. I know one thing more. He was The Prophets' chosen vessel during The Last Struggle. Though they exist in our time still, at that time were The Pagh Wraiths destroyed forever. I give you The Priest."

Kira had left out her own contact with that strange but wonderful being, back in the Missouri of 1956. Francis had been possessed by The Prophets, who were Kira's gods. When Kira asked the being possessing her who 'he' was, the response was simple.

_**I Am That I Am. **_

Francis had been the vessel of The Prophets. Kira, if this being was to be believed, was the vessel of the being most Terrans knew simply as God. Even more startling was this being's claim that he was The Father Of The Prophets. It was a simple statement that either tied two great faiths together or shattered them both.

The Priest, as the challenged, spoke first.

"As a young boy in Pennsylvania, I stared out at the night sky, and I saw the stars that I now am out among. From here, my home is a star, and for that it has lost no wonder. I always thought I'd find God, if I could just travel out here. I now know that God is vaster than any distance, and greater than all the stars. Creation, however we believe it came together, is simply put-Vaster. Bigger than ourselves, and all our worries. Larger than concerns about whether a soft-boiled egg should be eaten from the top or bottom first. The rituals, the pomp, and the circumstance are to increase our understanding of creation. But Creation understands us just fine, thank you. It always has."

If Francis or Nerys expected Winn to open with a statement about fealty and devotion to The Prophets, they were both sadly mistaken.

"The Priest offers up the best his faith has to give. What a rosy, inclusive picture he paints. But what of women, Francis? What of your Church's stance that no woman could get to heaven except through a man?"

Francis nodded.

"A belief mostly discredited by my time, Eminence. I certainly do not hold it."

Winn smiled, her trap sprung.

"How enlightened of you. Especially considering that, in your year of 1957, women in your United States had only gained the right to vote some 37 years earlier. That your Church's stance on such things as reproductive rights-"

Francis cut her off, having been ready for at least that attack.

"...Is, Kai Winn, quite similar to Bajor's stance prior to The Occupation. Certain people were restricted in having children based on class and occupation. I believe it was called D'Jarra? It had other, most interesting restrictions. Should we talk them out as well?"

A bit stung, the Kai pressed forward on other fronts.

"I see Chief O'Brien and his wife are not here. Pity. I'm sure they'd love to tell us how Katherine Mulcahy O'Brien gave up being a Nun-A Holy Sister Of Your Faith-for despair of advancement, as much as any other reason?"

Francis finally saw where this was going, and liked it not at all.

"My sister left the habit for the love of Seamus O'Brien. I have never heard her give any other reason, and I am her brother. As her brother, Winn Adami, I'll kindly ask you to leave her, my parents, Miles, Keiko, and Molly-well out of this."

Kira interjected.

"Francis, you forgot Yoshi O'Brien."

"No, Kira, I did not. After all, Her Eminence would never involve an infant in her-fervent discussion."

The Kai shrugged.

"It merely seems to me that you have many things you fear talking about, Priest. Of course, history shows his Church is one of secrets and shames. The Donation Of Constantine-a mere real-estate fraud. The Inquisition-ritualized torture of those who disagreed. The Holocaust-a blind eye turned on so many fronts."

Rather than be baited in again, the Padre merely nodded.

"Go on."

The Kai shook her head.

"Go on? Oh, I could go on forever."

Well under her breath, Kira whispered.

_"You got that right." _

"But, I merely choose to conclude the body of my discourse with this small fact-and yes, Priest-it is about children. Shortly after your time, it will be revealed that a handful of Priests sexually molested small children and teenagers. Rather than imprisoning these monsters or forcing them to seek help, your Church merely reassigned them-quite regularly. Even when this shame was exposed, your Pontiff was quite slow to react. How do you answer for that crime?"

At that moment, Francis heard the voice of his hero, The Gentleman Boxer.

_**"Sometimes, kid-they don't leave you no choice. Maybe they got stones in their gloves-maybe they played with your shoes. Maybe they're sneakin' shots in below the belt, and the ref don't see it. You can try to show you're a boxer, and an athlete. But sometimes, ya gotta show em'-restraint means you don't want to - it doesn't mean you can't. Padre, put this bum away. She's wide open for a haymaker. She just don't know it." **_

Father Mulcahy shook his head.

"I answer by pleading guilty. But I'm very surprised at you, Kai Winn. For that crime is hardly at the pinnacle of my Church's wrongs. Are you holding back on me? I'm not fragile, you know."

Winn was drawn in by what she foolishly saw as an opening.

"I-was-unaware of any further malfeasance on the part of your Church, Francis. Would you care to enlighten us?"

What came next had its parallels in the Balboa-Drago fight of 1984.

"Yes. I will enlighten you. You see, in The Middle Ages on Earth, my Church wielded political power equal to its spiritual power. Well, such power corrupts even the holiest of people. The Church lost a great deal of respect, and many followers. When Rome made and broke kings-it lost the ability to carry out God's will. When America was founded, this was the reason why a wall was placed between Church and State. Not merely to protect the State. But to protect religion. If The Church is merely another political party-then its message is lost in the campaigns. Our crime was placing the two together as one. Such power in the hands of one or a few individuals-"

He looked directly at Winn.

"-leads invariably to war and disaster."

The Kai's mouth was wide open, but no words came from this woman who had tried very hard to achieve the kind of power that Francis had rightfully proclaimed impossible to wield justly and effectively.

"I call a recess. Priest-I would speak with you-privately."

Kira, joyful and triumphant, pointed towards the CO's office. The debaters went inside. Winn was blunt.

"You will go out there and concede the debate in front of everyone."

Francis puzzled at this.

"Why, Eminence, would I do such a thing?"

She smiled a cobra's smile.

"Are you fond of Kira Nerys?"

"Yes, of course. She's a dear girl."

"Do you wish her to be banished for her blasphemy? For believing in Gods other than the Prophets?"

Francis looked around the room in which he and Kira had spoken of her visions.

"Winn Adami-you have not won."

"Oh, haven't I, Priest?"

Francis shook his head, in sorrow for this little lost soul.

"No, you haven't. You see, you aren't the first to use surveillance devices on me, to spy on the sanctity of the confessional. I knew what sort you were-so I came prepared. Sadly, I must fight fire with fire."

Winn refused to believe him.

"You have nothing to fight me with. Nothing at all."

A voice from the shadows spoke out.

"But I do, Eminence."

The Kai shook with fear, at the sight of the man, hidden from view. The dead man.

"Bareil! No-this is a trick."

Vedek Bareil grinned.

"No trick, Adami. No Mirror duplicate. It's me-five weeks before my death. Oh, yes, I knew before I came on the station. But for the sake of the Bajora-I laid low. I took my silence to the grave. Silence about a slow-acting poison whose effects were exactly those of my apparent illness. Now I can go out there, and verify my identity-and then my story. In my time, I was afraid of splitting our faith, so soon after the Occupation. But if you so much as breathe in Nerys's direction - I will expose it all - and there are things and places and bodies that even you've forgotten about. Goodbye, now, Kai Winn. We will not see each other again. Take from that what you will."

Francis returned Bareil to his place and destiny.

"Thank you, Bareil."

"Francis, I do what I do for the good of Bajor. But-Prophets forgive me-it felt good, for once, to drag her off that pedestal she uses so often. I'm only glad Opaka never found out who succeeded her."

Francis nodded, and vanished. The Kai Winn of that timeframe then entered Bareil's office.

"Vedek Bareil, were you speaking with someone?"

"No one you'd care to know, Eminence."

Back in the relative present of DS9, Francis saw that Winn and her entourage had withdrawn. Kira remained, smiling as she had not for some time. Odo stood beside her, and addressed the Padre.

"Francis-you want to apply to my security staff? Because you sure know how to get rid of the troublemakers."

Francis smiled, having fought a draining but successful fight.

"Odo-compared to the bunch at the 4077th-your Kai is one big-creampuff!"

_**RIVER BEND, MISSOURA, 1957**_

Mildred Potter saw her husband and Francis walk in, Bajoran potatoes in hand, as promised.

"So, did you boys do anything interesting while in the 24th Century?"

The two shrugged, and looked at each other. They spoke as one.

"Nothing, really."


End file.
